


The Outside

by Blitzindite



Series: The Outside [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: AU, Abandonment, Angst, Auras, Bing that's illegal :I, Cellphone Tracking, Cliffhangers, Concussions, Death Threats, Emotional Manipulation, Fainting, False Accusations, Forged Documents, Hurt/Comfort, Inhuman Abilities, Insults, Jealousy, Language, Magic, Medical Procedures, Mental Breakdown, Mention of Cannibalism, Multi, Mystery Character(s), New Beginnings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Self-Doubt, Trans Male Character, Verbal Abuse, Withdrawal, a storm is brewing my friends~
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 53
Words: 105,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blitzindite/pseuds/Blitzindite
Summary: Mark and Seán have ended their YouTube careers. That leaves their Egos with one option to keep themselves from fading as the fans start to forget them: Leave their dimensional plane, and live in the humans'. But the Outside is new and unknown to the Egos, with rules and laws they have a hard time understanding.Warning that this series will contain Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Strong Language, Manipulation in the form of Gaslighting and development of Stockholm Syndrome, Major Character Injury, Mob Mentalities, and more. All chapters are tagged with proper warnings (ones without warnings are older and need updated), and if you want a tag added, please inform the author! He is happy to tag all triggers, and encourages readers to say something if he forgets one.





	1. A Doctor, A Demon, and Two Hosts...

**Author's Note:**

> So a Doctor, a Demon, and two Hosts enter the human world...
> 
> Don't ask. Seriously. XD  
> I have no idea where the idea for this came from, but so far it has been fun to write. I think that working the unknown parts of our world in for the Egos to figure out will be a fun challenge. Especially for the serial killers, or ones with powers (AKA most of them).

 

It had been seven years since Mark’s last video. Three years since Seán had announced he’d be stopping YouTube soon, too. That didn’t mean they had no more fans. People still watched their videos, wrote fanfiction, drew fanart. Unfortunately, the people who did began to dwindle as time went on.

 

The Egos? They were afraid. No, terrified. Most of them had already grown transparent in the arms. Some were close to fading completely. The few fans who still watched were all that kept them alive.

 

Magic grew weak, Visions started to cloud, powers became draining. They were all fading. Some, faster than others.

 

The doctors, with Iplier weak on his feet, made their rounds every day. They’d ordered that everyone stay in Egos, Inc. so that they could all be kept track of. The Septics’ office, Ego Central, had begun to fall apart during that time; with no magic to keep it in good shape, no Egos to give it reason to exist. Schneep and Dr. Iplier made sure to check in on everyone; just to see who was still with them. So far, they’d been lucky. No one had faded yet—though the King, Bim, Marvin, Yandere, and Twins seemed to be getting close.

 

The Jim Twins never let go of each others’ arms anymore; terrified that if they let go, that if they didn’t stay near each other, they’d fade without their brother at their side. Marvin clung to Jackieboy in a similar manner, while Bim and the King had locked themselves away in their rooms, and Yan stuck close to anyone he could; namely Chase, due to his more paternal nature.

 

The Egos knew, simply through an accident many years ago, that they couldn’t fade Outside. Not outside of their offices, but really, truly _Outside_. That if they left their dimensional plane, and went into the humans’, that they could live on. But it was a terrifying thought. Most of them had never even set foot out there; if they had, it had been only very brief, and with their creators. They didn’t know what to expect, except that it physically altered their features.

 

Kathryn had explained it in a way that made sense; especially to those who weren’t exactly ‘law-abiding’. If the Egos went Outside, and did something to draw attention to themselves, the different appearance they got made it so Seán or Mark wouldn’t be pinned as suspects. Sure, the Ego _might_ look like they could be related to them Outside; but they no longer looked like clones as they did in their own plane.

 

The Egos were all too afraid of what was out there to leave. Not even Dark wanted to go out there. Nor Wilford, or Anti, or the Googles; the seemingly fearless ones. The Outside was a new, unknown world to them.

 

That all changed when Schneep entered the Twins’ room to check up on them, and found only a note on their bedside table. Bing, Chase, and Yan had all left similar notes.

 

They’d left together, in the middle of the night. Gone Outside. Chase with his kids in tow; each of them with backpacks filled with cash, food, and water. Yan so desperate to survive he’d left behind every keepsake of his senpai he’d collected and only brought a few changes of clothes, as well as his swords. Bing had ripped his charger from the wall to take with, while the Twins shouldered backpacks filled with notebooks and clothes.

 

The next day, Jackieboy and Marvin left with Bim and the King. Then it was the Googles, while Anti and Jameson left within two hours of the androids.

 

Their numbers started dwindling more and more; anywhere from one to a few Egos leaving every day, until the only ones left were the doctors, Dark, Wilford, and the Host. But soon enough, even they wanted to leave. There was nothing left for them in their plane but a lonely end.

 

“Out there, we have chance. In here, we can only fade from memory,” Schneep had said to the other four. Alone, he’d exited through the back door that would take him to the humans’ plane; carrying nothing but a card from Marvin, a scalpel, and his cellphone and wallet.

 

The following day, the remaining four made their choice.

 

“You’ll need a human name,” Dr. Iplier had said, gaze flitting between Dark and the Host. The Doctor could barely stand, and the others had to squint to focus on his extremely faded form that was barely visible. Dark, predictably, selected Damien. The Doctor suggest ‘Arthur’ for Host; a callback to his original title of Author, and easy to remember. He received a frown for it, before the blind Ego gave a nod.

 

Much like the Doctor, Host was very faded. He was followed closely by Dark. Only Wilford, through all these years, had maintained a mostly-solid form with only his hands fading in and out of visibility. And that was only because he was the channel’s literal icon; seen every day even if the videos themselves weren’t viewed.

 

Shifting the pack on his shoulders, the Doctor bent down to pick up his first-aid kit. He struggled with its weight in his weakened state, but managed. His free hand found the crook of Host’s elbow; both as a means to help the blind Ego since his Visions weren’t working properly, and so they could support each other, and he led the Host through the back door without another word. Dark and Wilford hesitated for but a moment before following suit.

 

Dark flinched at the bright sunlight to greet him, and it took a good thirty seconds for his eyes to adjust to it. Smoothing out his suit jacket, he reined in his aura to form the appropriate shadow at his feet that he always seemed to lack. Out here, he couldn’t let it surround him, draw attention to him, them. Finally, the old Ego took a look at his comrades and was nearly dumbstruck. He knew they’d all look different out here. He just...hadn’t really thought about it until actually _seeing_ it with his own eyes.

 

The doctor looked so young. He was also lankier and taller than their creator, now. His face was one of a tired youth; maybe college-aged, and a soul patch adorned his once clean-shaven face.

 

The Host’s face was narrower, angled more harshly; bandages almost looking like they’d slide right off with how loosely they clung to it now. Iplier leaned in to readjust them so they wouldn’t actually do so. Much like the Doctor, he was taller, but overall build similar to what it had been before. It was amusing, however, at how much shorter his coat seemed with the added height of the Ego himself.

 

Wilford had gained a soldier’s build; slimmer than before but still powerful. His mustache didn’t curl at the corners nearly as much, and covered his upper lip better; no longer pink, but the same black as his hair. Dark wondered how long it would be before it was dyed back to that signature color.

 

Dark, himself, didn’t feel much different build-wise; his suit didn’t seem loose or tight, at least. Though, he did keep stepping on the bottom of his pantlegs. So the doctor and Host were taller, Will more or less the same height, and Dark shorter? How did it work out like that, he wondered with a twinge of annoyance. Judging by Wilford’s smirk, the height difference was fairly obvious.

 

The Doctor was looking the other three over as well, his own surprise at their appearances shining in now-green eyes. “This,” he muttered, “looks like the start of a very bad joke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doc's final comment was something that occurred to me as I was finishing up the writing, so I had to add the 'bad joke' aspect to the chapter title and his end dialogue. And admit it, he's right!


	2. Paging Mr. Fischbach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Chase, Bing, Jim & Jim, Yandere, Chase's kids (first to leave)

 

It had been a frightening decision to make. But surely it couldn’t be as scary as losing each other, the Twins had thought. Chase had been the one to confront them, asking if they wanted to accompany him and Yandere when they left for the humans’ plane. Bing was already in on it, but was busy trying to disconnect his charger from the wall. Chase had tried getting to Bim and the King, but one had his door locked and was a heavy sleeper (Bim), while the other had scaled a tree and the Septic hadn’t been able to wake him from on the ground, and didn’t dare try climbing in the middle of the night lest he injure himself.

 

The Twins’ room had a bunk-bed. When Chase had entered, they’d both been seated on the bottom, in a quiet slumber as they leaned against each other with arms linked together. Chase knit his brows in concern. They’d been so faded that he really had to focus to make out their features. It was even harder to tell which was which; it actually came down to him only knowing by News Jim’s chewed fingernails versus Weather Jim’s, Jimmy’s, neatly trimmed ones. But even that was hard to see.

 

“Hey,” he said softly. He rested his hands on their shoulders and shook them gently; they both woke up then, setting tired, hollow eyes on Chase. “Hey,” he said again, more in greeting this time than to wake them. “I need you two to come with me, ‘kay?”

 

“Where?” Jim asked.

 

“Why?” his brother added. “We’re tired…”

 

That line broke the Septic’s heart. The Twins were clearly exhausted and so close to their final days. He wasn’t sure they’d even have the strength to stand with how faded they were. “We’re leaving,” he answered softly, “so that we can’t fade. Goin’ Outside and stayin’ out there.”

 

The Twins glanced at each other uneasily at that. “But…” Jimmy trailed off, so the other finished.

 

“There’s rules against that.”

 

“Fuck the rules. Mark and Jack made ‘em up so we wouldn’t cause trouble Outside. I’m pretty sure they’ll let ‘em slide now if they knew.” He held out his hands in silent offer to the Twins. They both hesitated before taking one each, allowing Chase to help them on their feet. They were unsteady, and leaned against each other and the bed frame, but they were up at least. Chase nodded toward their closet. “Start gettin’ clothes ready. I’ll be back in a sec with packs.”

 

While Chase worked with the Twins, Bing was busy trying to disconnect his charger from the wall. Unfortunately, it had been built into it. The fact his charger was in the same room as the Googles’ just made it that much harder since he had to work quietly.

 

A yellow glow off to the side caught his attention, and if the android had a heart it would’ve jumped in his throat as he recognized that glow as Oliver’s eyes. The yellow Google whirred and clicked quietly, and Bing beeped a hesitant response. Oliver’s eyes flickered as he disconnected the charger from his neck and wrists, and he approached his fellow android. Brows knit, the Google knelt next to Bing; he lifted the note the other android had written, then set it back down slowly. The following conversation consisted of soft clicks and whirs so they wouldn’t disturb the other three Googles and, with Oliver’s help, Bing was able to get his charger free without waking them.

 

“ _Thanks, Ollie...”_ Bing whirred. _“Sure y’don’t wanna come, dude?”_

 

Oliver nodded. If not for the fact the androids could see in the dark, and that their eyes glowed, Bing would’ve missed the action. _“When I leave, it’_ _s_ _with them_ _or not at all_ _,”_ he replied, nodding to the other three Googles. _“Stay safe out there?”_

 

“ _No promises.”_ Bing grinned his signature, stupid grin. Ollie returned it with the more unsettling smirk the Googles shared. Bing held up a fist, and Oliver humored him by copying the motion, and bringing his knuckles to bump the others’. Then the Google stood. With a final nod, he returned to his charger. Bing grabbed his own, picked up his skateboard in the other hand, and departed quietly with one final glance at the other androids.

 

It was bittersweet, really. As much as they bickered, it was hard to think that he may never see the Googles again once he went Outside. Despite all their arguing, the androids had always looked out for each other; even when it had just been Bing and Blue. If one had a virus, the other worked day and night to get rid of it. If one was damaged, the other built the needed parts for repairs, no matter how tedious it was. It almost hurt to leave them behind—but, much like some of the ‘lesser’ Egos, Bing was quickly running out of time. The Googles could last quite a bit longer. Bing would be lucky if he could get another month in the humans’ time before fading.

 

The android carefully pawed open Yandere’s door before he could pass it, yellow-orange eyes blinking at the sudden flood of light to meet them. “Yan? I think we’re ‘bout ready, dude.”

 

The Ego looked up from the backpack he was currently stuffing clothes into. It was his schoolbag, Bing noted when he saw the young Ego’s schoolwork dumped carelessly on the floor to make room for more important things. “I’ll bring him out in a minute, Bing!” It was Kyler, Chase’s oldest kid, who spoke from somewhere behind the door. “Just making sure he’s got what he needs.” Bing just nodded and shut the door again, not wanting the light now filtering into the hall to disturb one of the others.

 

The android made his way to the back door. Chase was already there with his youngest—Sophie—and the Twins. Jim and Jimmy were leaning heavily on the wall, shoulders sagging under their backpacks. For the Twins, it looked like they were leaving just in time, Bing thought. Even with his enhanced eyesight, the android was having trouble focusing on them.

 

Bing tried not to look at them, and instead shifted his charger so it was positioned under his arm better. With how faded he, himself, was, there was no way he could’ve carried the relatively heavy device had Mark not created the Ego as a robot. Regardless, his shoulder was starting to creak under its weight.

 

“Where’s Kyler and Yan?” Chase asked when the android took to leaning against the door frame.

 

“Comin’ dude. Ky’s just makin’ sure—”

 

Kyler was jogging up to the group then, cutting Bing off. He and Yandere had their backpacks slung across their shoulders, and the tween supported the weakened Ego whenever Yan lost his footing. “Sorry. Had to find a jacket for him.” Kyler nodded toward Yan, who was carrying an old sweater of Chase’s that he’d given to Ky a while back.

 

Chase gave a nod. “All right. Yan, you wrote your note?” The Ego in question nodded. “Then we should be good to go.” He moved his way to the front of the group as Bing opened the door, and the two walked out side-by-side. They were immediately followed by Sophie and the Twins, then Kyler and Yan. The Jims and Yandere still seemed tired, but they’d perked up as soon as they went through that door; it brought a relieved grin to Chase’s face.

 

Glancing over at the android after stepping through the door, Chase noted that he looked like a deer in the headlights. It was raining, lightly, and Bing’s gaze was cast up at the sky. Chase realized what was going on too late, and it was actually the Twins who rushed to grab the android by the arms before he could bolt back through the door. “Easy, easy!” one of the them—Chase couldn’t tell which—said as softly as he could. They really seemed to be struggling to keep Bing in place.

 

“Bing!” the other Twin shouted over whirring fans and whining joints. “It’s just rain. _Just rain._ I wouldn’t have let you come out if there was lightning.” Now Chase _knew_ that one was Jimmy; of course he’d know the weather. That was his ability, for crying out loud! “It…looks like weather works different out here, anyway. And the rain’s going to let up soon. Bing? Easy.”

 

The android calmed enough that the Jims could let go of him. After the panic, everyone was able to take a breath, and look at the others around them. See the differences in their faces, hear it in their voices.

 

Of course, for Chase, the differences he noticed immediately were the ones in his kids. Sophie’s hair—which had been long, wavy blonde in heavy resemblance to his ex—was straighter and a much darker color. Kyler’s had gone black, while their eyes were a very dark brown. They both seemed a little older, too; Sophie closer to eleven now, while Ky looked around fifteen, though their faces were mostly the same despite the aging. To match his own changes, Chase noted, when he caught his reflection in Bing’s sunglasses. He couldn’t help but frown a little. Like the kids, he looked older. More like the type of guy who’d done hard work for years earning for a family rather than a dorky video blogger. He wasn’t sure he liked the look for himself—would take some getting used to.

 

Sophie was giggling behind her hand and Kyler had a shit-eating grin, but both of them wisely kept quiet. Their father just rolled his eyes. He really didn’t look _that_ much older—but they were still kids, and would probably be making jokes about it for a while.

 

The Twins were still definitely twins, and Chase had lost track of which was which again. They looked a lot different than before—like beanpoles, honestly, with faces to match. Bing still looked a fair degree like he had before; he could easily pass off as a younger brother to Mark if he wanted to.

 

Chase knit his brow. “Wait, where’s—”

 

“Yan?” The Twins were wide-eyed as they looked to the other Iplier.

 

If Chase thought he’d looked different, seeing Yandere was like a slap in the face. However old Kyler was supposed to be out here, Yan looked the same. If not for his uniform, they probably wouldn’t have even known it was him right away. And honestly, he looked just about as shocked as the others. They really shouldn’t have been so surprised considering it seemed like they’d been aged appropriately for the Outside. But they were, and couldn’t help it.

 

“This’s _soooo_ weird…” Yan murmured, face turning the same color as his hair at the change in his voice. It was said more to himself than the others. Bing still snorted an agreement, however.

 

“Well… Now what?” one of the Twins asked.

 

Chase looked to Bing. “You up for it, bro?”

 

The android gave a half-shrug and set down his skateboard to free one hand. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through the few contacts within; most of them being the bizarre numbers of the other Egos. When he’d found the one he needed, he selected it, and brought the device up to his ear. It rang. And rang. And rang. Before:

 

“ _Mmm? Bing? Do you know what time it is..?”_

 

“I know, dude, but…” Bing sounded more awkward than ever. It made the others wonder how long it had been since he’d last talked with the Ipliers’ creator. “Could ya c’mere? Please, man?”

 

“ _Bing… It’s the_ middle of the night. _If you guys need me, I’ll be there in the morning.”_

 

“Mark—” The android gave a startled beep when Jim snatched the phone away.

 

“Mark, please. We’re Outside—” He jumped at a sudden crash on Mark’s end, stepping on his brother’s foot in the process; he could only assume Mark fallen off the bed or something to warrant the noise. Jim added hurriedly, “J-Jimmy and Yan and I—we…we wouldn’t have made it another night if we’d stayed there.”

 

“Everyone’s fadin’, bro!” Chase called, hoping it was loud enough to be picked up. Jim tossed the phone over to him. “Bing and I got some’a the real faded ones out. We’re not goin’ back, man.”

 

There was scuffling on Mark’s end, and finally a feminine voice—Amy—answered. _“We’ll be right there. Stay put.”_

 

They did just as they were told, taking cover from the light drizzle against the side of the office building. It was so strange to see it from the humans’ plane. It looked so normal. Boring. The Egos wondered how many people used it every day without knowing it was a bridge between planes.

 

At some point, Yan had pulled on the oversized sweater, while Kyler had wrapped his sister in his own jacket. The younger three stood huddled while the other Egos stood around them like a protective barrier. It wasn’t like Yandere needed protecting, but his new appearance was throwing them off. Especially poor Chase and his more paternal instincts; he’d even been the one to scold Yan to put the sweater on.

 

When the white van pulled into the empty parking lot, Bing held up a hand to the others to stay put, picked up his skateboard, and jogged over. He put his board and charger in the back, and then it looked like an argument between him and Mark started. Amy stepped between them when Bing’s voice became a series of angry beeps instead instead of distinguishable words, guiding the android into the van. She waved down the rest of them, and by the time everyone was in the vehicle, she’d thrown a few towels in back for them, as well as a small blanket.

 

Mark pulled out of the parking lot in silence, and headed for their place.

 

“What…will you do out here?” Amy asked haltingly after a while.

 

Chase met her eyes in the van’s rear-view. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. …Thanks for lettin’ us crash at your place for the night.”

 

“Anything for a friend, Chase.” A wedding lock glittered on her hand when she reached up to adjust the mirror to get a good look at everyone. She smiled gently at the sight of Sophie leaning against her brother, already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't think Bing would really keep in touch with his creator very well. Hence the awkwardness and ensuing argument with Mark. And yeees, Mark and Amy Fischbach are a thing in this fic. ;P
> 
> YES, the fact Bing and the Googles are robots will cause problems later on! All of the characters will cause some sort of problem, and their creators won't be there to dig them out.
> 
> *SPOILER ALERT* Seán and Signe are engaged in this fic, as well. They'll get some attention in Marv and Jackie's chapters :)


	3. Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Jackieboy, Marvin, King, Bim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually kind of hurt to write. ;;  
> Didn't know it would be so difficult to split some these guys up-

Schneep had been quiet about it at first; turning only to Dr. Iplier when he found the Twins’ note that they’d left. Together, the doctors had found Chase’s and Yan’s as well, while the Googles had brought Bing’s to Iplier when they’d found it upon exiting sleep mode. Only the doctors and androids knew about the group’s leave for the first few hours that morning. Only the doctors knew that for Yan and the Twins, they’d been saved. Iplier had known, through his ability, that they would have completely faded within the week. Only the doctors realized that Oliver seemed oddly quiet, the Googles more reserved. Not even Green made a sarcastic comment, nor Red so much as growl in frustration, when he’d dropped something.

 

Schneeplestein had been the one to calm Jackieboy down when the superhero about bowled him over in his panic. _Where’s Chase? I can’t find the kids! Where’d they all go..?_

 

The Septics’ doctor was good at hiding his own hurt as he comforted Jackie and Marvin. The three of them had been close to Chase and his kids. How he could just…up and leave without warning was a painful blow.

 

Then again, it all hurt. Some of the Egos—hell, a lot of them actually—couldn’t help but feel that their creators had abandoned them. Even Schneep had grown distant from Seán; something no one had seen coming considering how close they’d been. The doctor was too busy anymore. Always trying to help the other Egos, trying to find ways to keep them from fading for just a little longer.

 

Against the knowledge of Mark and Seán, the doctors had started working with the Googles. When someone started fading too much, they’d tell Blue, and one of the androids would post or share something—an image, a GIF, anything they could get their hands on involving the fading Ego—to one of their creator’s Accounts. With so few fans, it was barely enough anymore; and aside from Dark, Anti, and Bing, they were the only ones who knew. In all honesty, at least half of them should have faded a long time ago. They just didn’t have the hearts to say anything about it.

 

“Hey, Schneeps..?” The doctor looked up from his makeshift desk at the red-clad superhero. With the Septics staying in Egos, Inc. now, there was a shortage of rooms, with the exception of two spare bedrooms that were shared. Jackieboy shared one of the spares with Schneep, and had helped the doctor put together a small work desk a long time ago.

 

“Hmm?” There were bags under his eyes, and fingerprints smudged his glasses.

 

“I… Marv and I, I mean… We…I think we’re going to leave.” Jackie shut his eyes, afraid to see the doctor’s reaction as he continued. “You know he’s fading. Fast. H-he doesn’t have much time left. We were gonna take Bim and King, too. I was just wondering—”

 

“No.”

 

Jackieboy looked up, startled at being cut off by the almost bitter word.

 

Schneep took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes as if he had a headache. “I know what you are asking, Jackie. And I cannot go.” He looked up to meet Jackie’s eyes, his own shining with the tears he’d stubbornly been holding back all day, ever since finding out about Chase and the others taking off. “Take them. Be superhero you are and save them. But I am doctor. I stay until not needed.”

 

“But… But Schneep! You’re running out of time! We _all_ are!”

 

The doctor squinted his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. “Jackie.” His voice cracked. Schneep swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. “Think. You cannot drag me out. The more faded need out of here sooner. Please, Jackie. I remain until I know others will leave, survive!”

 

Jackieboy stood up from where he’d been on the edge of his bed. He approached the doctor, and before Schneep could turn him away, he was pulled into an almost desperate embrace. “Just…kee-eep in conta-act, okay?” the superhero begged, sobs overtaking his words. Schneep could feel tears fall onto his neck, and had to fight even harder not to let his own come down.

 

Hands shaking, Schneeplestein brought them against Jackie’s back. They scrunched up the red fabric of his jumpsuit, while Jackie’s hands left behind wrinkles in Schneep’s coat. It was so hard to let go when the superhero finally stepped away. The doctor met Jackie’s bloodshot eyes, and the older Ego’s smile was what broke the dam; Schneep’s tears finally falling.

 

Then, Jackie was gone; leaving the doctor alone. All Schneep could do was wipe his eyes and continue with his work. He just hoped Marvin came to say goodbye, as well.

 

The hero nearly crashed into Wilford in his rush to find the other three, only narrowly hopping around the old Ego, and couldn’t help a little pang of envy at how solid Will’s form still was. Oh, the perks of being a channel icon… Shaking his head, Jackie skidded to a stop at Bim’s door and banged his fist on it.

 

The game show host opened the door a crack so he could peek out, then swung it wide at sight of Jackieboy. Seeing the Ego’s suitcase, he raised a brow. “Bim, can you carry that—?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah! It’s got wheels!”

 

Jackie just nodded a little. It was a large suitcase, to say the least. With how faded Bim was, it would be a struggle; even if it was a wheeled one.

 

“We’re still leaving through Ego Central, right?” Bim asked as he flipped through a journal, then put it in the case.

 

Jackie nodded. “Yeah. So whenever you’re ready, just wait at the Door for the rest of us.” A pause. “Do you know where King is?”

 

The game show host pointed out toward the hallway. “His room. Door’s unlocked.”

 

“Huh. Thought I checked there earlier… If you need help with that, give me a call. I’ll be rounding him and Marv up.” The hero didn’t wait for a response.

 

By the time he’d finished checking in on both the King of the Squirrels and Marvin, the superhero was cutting through the living room. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and Jackie whipped around—only to be met by the face of Silver Shepherd. Jackie grinned, and the other hero returned it. “You’re gonna look out for Jacques, right? Make sure to get ‘im out before…you know.”

 

Silver nodded. “Of course!”

 

The superheros had decided, earlier that day—soon after getting over the shock of Chase’s group leaving, actually—that they’d be the ones to take the most faded Egos out of their plane. Jackie was leaving with three of them, but didn’t want to risk taking any more in case a larger group drew attention. Silver would be taking Jacques, the artistic Septic (who _no one_ understood how he’d survived so long), and Ed Edgar whenever they were ready to leave.

 

“You have the—ah! Great!” Jackieboy took the clothes held out to him. “Thanks, Silver.” His free hand took the Shepherd’s in a familiar gesture, then the two parted ways; perhaps for the last time, they thought with sad smiles.

 

Jackie headed for the room that, soon, would be Schneep’s alone. He passed the doctor and Marvin in the hallway, just as the magician pulled a tissue out of thin air and passed it to the younger Ego. They were laughing as the hero closed the door and got himself changed. It…had been a long time since he’d heard a laugh from Schneeplestein, so he tried to listen to them through the door.

 

Normal humans would never wear what he did and, thanks to Silver’s girlfriend, Jackieboy had a regular outfit to wear into the humans’ plane. He felt odd as he pulled the new clothes on; faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved, red plaid shirt. The shirt took a couple tries to get on right. Jackie’s fingers kept fumbling with the buttons and doing them wrong. Hesitantly, he pulled his mask off and put it in his back pocket. He slipped his feet into the loafers tucked under his…ah, former, bed, folded his jumpsuit and stuffed it in his pack, then slung it over his shoulder. Jackie closed his eyes, took a breath, squared his shoulders, then pulled the door open.

 

“Whoa… _Jackie?_ ” Marvin had stopped talking to Schneep to instead stare the superhero down.

 

Behind his glasses, the doctor’s eyes were wide. “ _Mein Gott_ , Jackie!”

 

Ducking his head as his face turned red, Jackieboy crossed his arms. Old scars criss-crossed the hero’s knuckles from the dozens of fights he used to get into; before he’d grown too weak to fulfill his purpose of superhero in the Egos’ dimensional plane. Through the undone first button of his shirt, similar marks can be seen crossing his chest like spiderwebs.

 

Considering the hero had only ever worn the same outfit—like most of the Egos with their own—it was odd seeing him in such average clothes. And Jackie felt just as odd wearing them. He was used to having his face and hands covered; wearing something that permitted flexibility. Jeans and a button-up…really didn’t.

 

Jackie took a breath to compose himself, then reached out to put a hand on Schneep’s shoulder. Marvin ducked around them to go get his bag from Wilford’s room. In the humans’ time, he’d been bunking with Will for a little over two-and-a-half years now. For the Egos’ plane, that meant it was a lot longer. They’d arranged it that way so they could combine their weakening magic, keep Egos, Inc. up and running as long as possible. Now it would be up to just Wilford, who’d maybe get some help from Dark and the Googles. Jackie felt a twinge of guilt about leaving it on the old Ego’s shoulders to keep the building running, but he also knew Marv couldn’t last much longer if he stayed.

 

The superhero had thought long and hard it about since Chase’s group had left.

 

No backing out now.

 

He squeezed Schneep’s shoulder, then dropped his arm to his side. The doctor was retreating into the room he’d now share with no one but his desk; before any more tears could fall. The door clicked shut just as Bim and the King came stumbling Jackie’s way. Bim kept tripping the older Ego with his suitcase (unintentionally), and the King’s face was stained with tears he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. He had a small backpack that probably only had a single change of clothes; maybe his cape or crown, too. A red squirrel lay across his shoulder, tail curled halfway around the King’s neck. They both had to double-take when they saw Jackie’s new outfit; in the end, only able to tell which Septic he was by the hair. He and Anti were the only ones who’d taken on the brown hair after Seán went back to natural. Jackie’s had the gray hairs of their creator, however, while Anti’s was just a dyed version of the brown to avoid the grays.

 

Jackie tipped his head toward the stairs. Beneath them was the Door that would take them to Ego Central. “You two go on over. Marv and I’ll be there in a sec.”

 

The hero had to do a little more running around—at one point, Jameson and Anti startling him when they opened their door and leaned out, nearly headbutting him. The glitch fizzled out and appeared on the opposite side of the hall to avoid the near-collision, while the silent Ego looked shocked. After recovering, Jameson tipped his hat to the superhero before disappearing back inside. Anti clapped him on the shoulder, then cut toward what Jackie assumed was his target of the kitchen. By now, everyone knew that another group was leaving.

 

By the time he got Marvin to the Door, Jackieboy was carrying both his pack and the magician’s. He wouldn’t admit that it was difficult, that Marv’s bag was heavy and that Jackie felt almost too weak for it. He just pushed through the growing ache in his shoulder and gave a confident, reassuring smile to Bim and the King when they’d joined the other two at the Door again.

 

“I think we’re ready,” Jackie said. Though, he was eyeing the Door with a little bit of uncertainty. The combination of blue and pink aura around it was muted, and the frame looked like it were made of water; swaying and churning. Overall, it looked extremely unstable. “Hey, Marv… You think you can hold it stable ‘til we’re all through?”

 

“Um… Maybe?” Years ago, the task would have been easy. Marvin used to be a powerful magician, and would often compete with Wilford for whose magic was better. But now… “It won’t be for long if I can. If we go through two at a time, I think I can hold it long enough, though.”

 

Jackie nodded and pointed to the Ipliers. “You two first. If the Door collapses, just go. Otherwise wait at the other side.”

 

Bim and King glanced at each other uneasily, then reached for the knob when blue tendrils stretched from Marvin’s fingers, surrounding the frame. Jackie held Marv’s arms steady, and nodded to the other two. “Quick!” The Ipliers darted through the door, and it shuddered violently. Marvin’s hands were already shaking, and his face had paled. Jackieboy grabbed the magician’s wrist then, and jumped through the doorway; dragging Marv with him.

 

When they were through, Jackie looked at the Door. It shuddered again, then its aura faded completely. The Door crumbled, leaving behind a bare wall; as if a doorway had never even been there in the first place.

 

It hadn’t been stable enough for use by even one Ego. Let alone to teleport _four_ from Inc. to Central. It had been too much for its weakened state. Now, the four of them couldn’t go back even if they wanted. To Brighton, it was.

 

The Septics’ eyes drifted though what they could see of their old home; the only light from holes in the roof. The King’s squirrel chittered and curled closer to his neck. Central was in ruins. Rotted beams sagged from the ceiling; wallpaper peeled and hung in strips. Tiles were warped as they walked through the kitchen on their way to the back of the building. Jackie felt Marvin grip his arm, heard a stifled whimper from the magician. This had been their home; the first place they’d ever seen when Seán had created them. And now…

 

“I’m sorry,” Bim murmured. His usually energetic voice was soft; posture slumped. He didn’t say it, but the others knew he was imagining Egos, Inc. years from now; how similar it would look to Central once the magic was gone.

 

“C’mon,” the superhero said, seeing the door they needed. Even after Central collapsed, this door would remain standing tall and proud; until the bridge in the outside world, whatever home or office building held it, was destroyed. Then the door would simply disappear, like it had never existed; just like the one that had linked Inc. and Central together for so long.

 

The four of them stepped through the doorway, and were immediately hit by a sheet of rain. Marvin was quick to slip his mask off and hide it under his cape after pulling it around himself like a blanket. The King curled in on himself, while his squirrel buried itself in his backpack. Bim flicked up the collar of his dress shirt to protect his neck, then pulled his suit jacket tighter around himself.

 

They all looked so different, but their first priority was contacting Seán and getting out of this rain. Then, the hero thought, they could focus on the changes caused after going Outside.

 

“Fuck…” Jackie cursed. He ushered his comrades around the side of the building they’d exited through—apparently, the door to Ego Central being the back door of a grocery store. The store shielded them from the freezing rain at least partially, but they were already soaked. The hero, with shaking hands and chattering teeth, pulled his phone from his pocket. He searched through his contacts, then selected his creator’s.

 

The voice to answer wasn’t Seán, but Signe. _“Jackie?”_ she asked.

 

“We… We left,” he managed.

 

A pause from her end. Then, _“Mark texted earlier. You’re all leaving,_ _aren’t you_ _? Who’s with you?”_

 

“We d-don’t leave, we-we’ll fade soon,” Jackie stuttered. He jumped a little when Marvin huddled up next to him, wrapping his cape around both of them. It wasn’t that it was awfully cold temperature-wise, but the rain and wind was sure as hell freezing. “I’m w-with Marv, B-Bim, and-and the King. We’re in Bri-ighton.”

 

_“Oh, God…”_ There was a grating sound from her end; a kitchen chair sliding over the floor, maybe. _“Where are you? If Seán doesn’t run into you, I’m coming to get you.”_

 

Jackie made a sound. He really didn’t know. “Some…shop?”

 

“What _shop, Jackie?”_

 

“A…grocer’s?”

 

“ _Jackie!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackie. "Grocer's" isn't very helpful for figuring out where the heck you are. :I  
> These four will have their new appearances explained better in their next chapter, though that will be a while from now. For the most part, I will be trying to keep a cycle going between the groups. It will be changed up, of course, as groups split up or combine, but for the most part, I will try keeping the "rhythm" the same.


	4. Calculated Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: The Googles (Blue, Red, Green, Oliver)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, each chapter gets longer than the last... :I
> 
> Note: This is the first group to leave due to problems. They run into quite a few as they make their decision.

 

Their numbers were thinning. By Blue’s guess, within three weeks’ time Egos, Inc. would be barren. Empty. Dying, just like Ego Central probably was. There would be no Egos in its halls. No magic to give it life. The building would slowly wither, before fading from this plane.

 

The blue Google glanced up from his computer when the door opened and Oliver entered with a cart holding oil, tools, and a number of other things. Usually, Bing was their ‘grocery-getter’ before he’d run off again to be with the more human Egos. Kind of hard for him to do that when he wasn’t there.

 

Green had his back to the door, but beeped a greeting, and Oliver returned it. The green-shirted android had his arm stretched out in front of him, synthetic skin peeled back to expose the metal frame beneath as he adjusted wires and servos at the elbow and wrist.

 

“Where’s Red?” Oliver asked as he took some things off the cart and placed them at Green’s worktable. He turned back to grab a cord; that was passed to Blue. He acted as if walking on eggshells. Things had been getting tense between the androids lately (partially due to lagging CPU’s), and Oliver did his best not to start any more arguments between them than there already were.

 

“Said he was stiff,” Green answered. “Went for a walk to loosen up.”

 

A little whine left the yellow Google. Red was fading fast. He was already weaker than the other three; weaker than even Bing had been. The Googles had concluded that the Upgrades would fade, one at a time, before Blue started fading faster. Red was the unlucky one who’d started the sped up process first. Unfortunately for the Googles, not only did they physically grow transparent, but their joints were also locking, CPU’s slowing down. Sure, they were going to last a while yet—problem was, their minds may be gone sooner than their bodies, or frames locked in place. By that point, it would be too late for them to leave.

 

Still, they worked as they always had.

 

“Oliver.” Blue glanced up from his computer again. Wires and cables stretched from his left arm to the console, connected to the limb in various places. “Incorporated has put up another firewall.”

 

It was all Blue needed to say. Oliver was at his side in moments, connecting one cable to his own wrist, and one at the back of his neck. Blue continued with his own work as the other Google’s eyes shifted to white noise; the older android not even reacting at the flickers or messages popping up on his computer. They worked in a natural sync with each other; one carefully breaking down the firewall, while the other went in behind to back up files and put stronger locks on the computer system.

 

The building had been trying to push them out for almost a year, now. It was a constant struggle between android and office to overtake the other. The building had won the battle over the security cameras, leaving them completely out of commission. The Googles won when it came to keeping the primary systems running in their favor. It was a constant stalemate between the beings; sentient androids, and an office that seemed to have a conscious. One could only pull ahead of the other for so long before they were knocked back down a peg.

 

Oliver gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to dent it, mouth falling open and eyes growing wide. The white noise in his eyes changed to glitches in varying shades of yellow. Green looked up as he was reattaching skin to the frame of his forearm, brows furrowing at sight of the yellow Google. He opened his mouth to speak, but dropped his tool when Oliver started sparking at the connection points.

 

By that point, Blue had burns showing up on his arm wherever the wires were connected. He pulled the cords, starting with the ones at Oliver’s neck and wrist, before his own. The yellow Google stumbled away from the computer, back hitting the wall heavily before he sank to the floor. The other two were kneeling on either side of him before he could even get his eyes opened. The yellow glow was still flickering, but the glitches were gone.

 

He tried to say something, but grimaced as static came out instead. Beeping hesitantly, as if to check he could still do that, Oliver converted to beeps, whirs, and chirps to communicate what he wanted to say. _“The building’s never reacted violently to us.”_ He looked up, concerned eyes meeting Blue’s. _“It tried to fry my CPU.”_

 

“Okay, Oliver.” He tensed up at the familiar command as it came from their leader, programming automatically activating. Usually, the Googles avoided using the command; now Blue was using it anyway, and it made the other two uneasy. “Damage report.”

 

Oliver’s response sounded automated—without the chipper, teasing tone he usually had. _“Touch-sensory receptors running at approximately 64% functionality. Vocal processor functionality lost. Replacement required.”_

 

“Okay, Oliver. Shut down.” The response was immediate; Oliver’s eyes turned black before they closed, and his frame went slack so he slumped against the wall.

 

Green cast their older counterpart an uneasy look as he moved forward to pick Oliver up; to move him to the bed they didn’t really have use for aside from repairing each other. Blue wouldn’t meet his eyes. The green Google just shook his head and started work on Oliver. He knew Blue’s mind was slowing down; Green tried to blame his use of the command on that.

 

There was tense silence for a while. Oliver’s shirt had since been removed, and his chest now lay open, exposing his core. Green worked carefully as he rewired the new vocal processor. He didn’t look up as he finally broke the silence.

 

“What was that?” The android huffed when there was no response. “Why did you use the command, Blue? You know he would have answered.” Green ground his jaw and glanced back at the other Google. “Blue!”

 

The older android was glaring over his glasses. He’d stopped the repairs to his own arm, screwdriver creaking dangerously in his grasp.

 

Green’s eyes flashed. Fortunately he didn’t have Red’s temper, or he would have chucked the oil can sitting next him at the other robot. _Unfortunately_ , Green was the sarcastic one. “What? Run into Anti again? CPU glitching? What’s _wrong_ with you?”

 

“Goog—!” The doctors had barged through the door then. It was Iplier who’d spoken, but he stopped himself mid-word. Two very heated glares were now directed at them. The Septics’ doctor seemed to shrink a little under their stares, while Dr. Iplier just returned it. “It’s Red.”

 

“What about Red?” Blue demanded. Schneep eyed the bare structure of the android’s arm, but Blue himself didn’t seem to notice or care that he hadn’t put the synthetic flesh back in place. He needed to replace it anyway; the old one was covered in burns and partially melted.

 

“His legs gave out. Fell down the stairs—main flight. Now he’s leaking oil and sparking,” Dr. Iplier answered.

 

Schneep added, “He won’t respond!”

 

Blue was on his feet in a moment. The start of their argument was forgotten as he turned to the other Google, blue eyes meeting green. “Continue Oliver’s repairs. I will retrieve Red.” Green nodded and turned back toward the unconscious Google.

 

The blue-clad android didn’t say any more as he followed the doctors.

 

Upon reaching Red, the lead Google could see where the concern came from. Blue looked up at the top of the winding staircase’s main landing—at the buckled railing that showed where Red had fallen from. He hadn’t fallen _down_ the stairs; he’d fallen _off_ them. Right over the railing to the ground below. Up top, Ed was leaning over the railing with wide eyes—probably saw the whole thing. Blue ignored the redneck and knelt at his comrade’s side; checked his eyes, lay a hand over Red’s chest. His core still pulsed strongly, gave off a glow, though that glow did flicker. Red’s eyes were so dull they almost appeared pink and, like the ‘G’ on his chest, they flickered. _But._ They were on. That meant he was still conscious. Still alive.

 

Blue considered commanding the other android into shut down. At the same time, he wanted to avoid an argument with Green. They’d been close to one before the doctors stepped in; best not to actually make another one happen with how tense it was getting between the androids lately. He wasn’t even sure the command would work with Red’s current condition, anyway. There was a good possibility he had damage to his CPU and the coding it held.

 

Red’s neck was twisted at an awkward angle, so Blue carefully reached down to run his fingers over the back of the other android’s neck, feeling for the spinal-structure; two of the disks were completely separated, he noted from the unnatural dip where they should have been. Had Red been human, or even just one of the more-human Egos, the snapped structure alone would have killed him due to its severity. That, paired with the crack he likely had at the back of his head, told Blue that his comrade was in serious condition.

 

Blue beeped. He searched the other’s eyes for any sign that he’d acknowledged the presence of the older Google.

 

There was a long delay. Then, a soft chirp, and so uneven he couldn’t tell what Red was trying to say, but it was there nonetheless. Pale eyes moved slightly, trying to find the older android.

 

“Doctor.” Blue didn’t care which of them actually responded. “Retrieve a neck brace and gurney. We will move Google_R back to our room while careful of avoiding more damage.”

 

When, finally, the three of them got Red to the Googles’ room, Blue was immediately forcing the doctors right back out. They couldn’t help with this anyway. Oliver, who was now conscious and sitting up with his arm outstretched, skin-stripped palm up for Green, refused to look their leader in the eye. Instead, he just ducked his head, and curled his fingers—much to Green’s annoyance when it caused the soldering iron to get stuck in one of Oliver’s knuckles. Luckily, it hadn’t been on.

 

The other three Googles would often just glare (or, in Red’s case, growl) at whoever used the command on them. Oliver, on the other hand, acted hurt by it.

 

“What…happened?” he asked, his voice crackling a little; it would take time for his systems to integrate the new vocal processor completely. He’d caught sight of Red, but now wouldn’t look that way since Blue was right there. Green turned to glance over his shoulder, but then went back to work when Oliver grimaced as the other pulled a wire with the motion.

 

“Google_R has fallen from the landing of the main staircase,” Blue answered as he rolled the gurney toward a worktable. By his request, the doctors had helped position Red so he was already laying on his chest, leaving his back available for repairs to the damaged spine. On their way to the Googles’ room, the lead android had manually put Red into shut-down. Blue didn’t speak as he got to work; starting by cutting Red’s shirt of of him, then working to get the synthetic skin pulled away from the metal spinal structure.

 

After a while, his hands stopped working and he glanced toward the other two Googles. He could hear cooling fans running at full power, and the room was starting to smell like burning wires. “Google_G. Google_Y.” Oliver scowled at the use of his ‘proper’ title, but kept his mouth shut. When Blue started using titles, it meant he was upset, agitated, or both. “Are either of you—”

 

‘Overheating’ was the word Blue wanted to say. It was almost like the question was a cue as Green gasped and had to seat himself on the bed. Oliver jerked his hand away, clutching it to his chest before Green’s sudden movements could damage anything in it. The green-clad android was ‘breathing’ heavily in an attempt to pull cool air into his system, and their yellow-clad counterpart leaped to his feet. Oliver darted for the room’s thermostat and turned the temperature down as far as it would go, then was back at Green’s side, helping pull his shirt off.

 

Oliver snatched a cable from the nearest desk. He connected one end to Green’s wrist, and the other to his own to do a check of the other’s systems—only to immediately yelp and pull it. Bright yellow eyes met blue. “His cooling systems just shut off completely!”

 

“Did you do a coding check?”

 

“I _tried_! And his CPU forced me out!”

 

Green was wheezing now, the room’s air not near cool enough to be of much help.

 

Blue knit his brows. Red was going to be the first one to fade. They knew that. However, it looked like Green would be next; the sped up process had finally hit another of the Upgrades. While the more short-tempered Google’s limbs had grown weak in his fade… Well, for Green it seemed that a more important system had just failed on him.

 

Blue and Oliver worked for hours on the other two. The older Google couldn’t get the parts he needed to replace the damaged discs in Red’s neck. For Oliver, every time he tried to fix one part of Green’s cooling system, another popped out of place or shut off. Eventually, some of his fans—the only part of that system still running—started failing, too.

 

“Blue, we can’t stay here!” The flesh on Oliver’s hands was shredded from catching metal parts in Green’s frame, and his eyes glistened with synthetic tears. Always the emotional one, Oliver was—well, along with Red and his temper. “They’re fading faster than we can repair, and who knows how long until one of my systems fail? You can’t fix all three of us on your own!”

 

Blue was so busy trying to craft a new vertebral disk for Red it took him a whole minute to acknowledge Oliver. He looked up, stony expression fixed on his face as he met the other Google’s eyes. “Go get one of the doctors. We will have them help craft a cooling-tank; make it look like an oxygen tank and mask.” Oliver knit his brows in confusion. “We leave. As soon as possible. Repairs are to be finished in the humans’ dimensional plane, but we need a way to keep them running until then. Bring crutches from the clinic, as well.” He turned back to Red and started closing up the android’s back; put the neck brace back on him.

 

Oliver was gone as soon as the other android had stopped talking. He was literally bolting down the hall, through the building, and toward the clinic; skidding on the linoleum in the kitchen as he passed through it, nearly colliding with anyone foolish enough to step out in front of him. He startled a good number of the Egos he passed along the way; not even Oliver ever seemed so panicked as to run through the building as he did now. This was a first.

 

The first doctor he saw, he grabbed their arm: Dr. Schneeplestein. The Septic paled at the contact—he always seemed uneasy just being around the Googles, let alone being touched by one. It had something to do with an incident involving them and Anti shortly after the Septics started staying at Egos, Inc.. “Doctor!” Oliver begged. “I need your help making something for Green!”

 

Schneep blinked as he shrugged the Google’s hand off his arm. “What..?” Why would one of the androids be asking _him_ for help? He knew nothing of their biology! If it could even be called that.

 

“I need to make a cooling-tank for him. Make it like an oxygen tank and mask. …Oh, and crutches!”

 

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, then cursed in German. In his head, Oliver was able to translate what he’d said, and suppressed a roll of his eyes. Schneep was so dramatic, even by the more human Google’s standards. “Can you help or not?”

 

“Yes, yes. Crutches are there. Make sure to get right size! I will get the tank emptied.”

 

It was a few more hours of work for Green, with Schneep constantly in and out of the room with fresh ice packs to keep the droid at least somewhat cooled. Red was sitting up in a chair near the corner by that point, head held up by the stiff neck brace. He was lucky the androids didn’t quite work like humans. With how badly his neck was broken—literally snapped—he should’ve been paralyzed from the neck down. Just gave another reason to be glad he wasn’t a more human Ego.

 

He watched the others intently; eyes bright and the occasional, curious chirp leaving him that Oliver would answer with a series of other sounds. He wanted to help, but he could barely stand on his own. Until the disks were replaced, he was going to look and feel like he’d been hit by a car.

 

Hopefully, they were done with the cooling-tank soon so the Googles could be out of there. They were fading faster than anticipated. Was it because the Upgrade had split the original Google into four, dividing the time it took them to fade? Did they only count as one Ego? They couldn’t be sure. And they hated not being positive on things—especially important things like this.

 

Schneep had helped them build the cooling tank inside the emptied oxygen tank after Blue had cut it in half. The doctor pointed out what they should and shouldn’t do with it so that it would still look like a regular tank since he was most familiar with the device, while Oliver built, and Blue did research on how to build their intended device properly. By the end, Oliver had welded the two halves of the tank back together with mechanical precision, and Schneep was showing them the proper way to fit the mask over Green’s face and how to connect it to the tank without letting air leak. They’d made it in a way that was similar to a fan; pulling air from outside, cooling it in the tank, and then sending it to the mask for Green to ‘breathe’ in, though the vent system in the tank was only visible if you really looked at it. It looked ridiculous on the android, but if it served its purpose, that’s what mattered.

 

Blue and Oliver nodded to the doctor in silent thanks and dismissal, then helped Green to his feet after powering him on.

 

“How’s it working?” the yellow-clad droid asked.

 

Green just nodded, eyes shut as he pulled the much-needed, cooled air into his system. He noted, upon seeing his reflection in one of the room’s monitors, that the cooling-tank was very simple in design. It wasn’t permanent, he reminded himself. He just needed to use it until they got the parts they needed to properly repair his systems.

 

“Oliver.” At his name, he glanced away from Green and met Blue’s gaze. “Gather sweatshirts,” he gave a pointed look at everyone’s glowing ‘G’s, completely visible through the thin fabric of their shirts, “and sunglasses.” His glowing eyes flashed. “I am sure Bing left spares in his closet.”

 

Oliver nodded and did as ordered. As he did that, Blue departed to speak with Dark; tell him that the Googles needed to go.

 

The head Iplier took the news better than Blue had anticipated. Then again, Dark really seemed more subdued these past years as it was; tired. The dark Ego had waved Blue off with a nod of his head. Saying he trusted Blue’s judgment. That if he thought it was time for the Googles to depart from this plane, then so be it. He knew what was best for his ‘brothers’.

 

“Blue.” The Google stopped in the doorway to Dark’s office, and turned back toward the demonic Ego. “Remain in contact.”

 

“Of course.”

 

It was, with sweatshirts hiding glowing ‘G’s from view and sunglasses shielding unnaturally colored, glowing eyes, that the androids departed from Egos, Inc. through the back door; Oliver aiding Red whenever he stumbled. A few of the other Egos watched with wide eyes as they left the building, their dimensional plane, for the last time. They’d expected the Googles to stay until the very end. But no: They were the third party to leave, with a good number still left behind.

 

Upon exiting the door, the androids took a good, long look at each other. The Upgrades were like identical triplets, whereas Blue looked like an older brother. Unbeknownst to them, they looked much like Bing now did; like they could be brothers to him and Mark.

 

Unlike the groups before them, they didn’t call one of the creators. Instead, they set off on foot, slowly so Red could keep pace, toward downtown LA. If they could get a room somewhere for the night, they could look into parts for Green and Red.

 

It was time to start a new life within the humans’ plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. There were a few parts in this chapter that made me uncomfortable. >.> I know they're robots, but the spine scene was hard to write. I actually removed a few things from it during the editing. Spines, collarbones, and eyes are just-- not for me.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing for the Googles. They're fun to write, but this was a challenging chapter!
> 
> ALSO if anyone has human-name suggestions for the Googles (or really anyone else with non-human names) feel free to suggest! If I use it, you will be credited in the chapter it first shows up in. The human names will just be so they don't get any looks out in public.


	5. Glitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Anti, Jameson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short compared to the last one; not as eventful, though.

One of the Egos to watch with wide eyes as the Googles left was Jameson. Now granted, he didn’t know the androids really at all (aside from Oliver and Bing). He did, however, know that no one expected them to leave so soon. It had only been a few days since Marv and Jackie had left, and some of the Ipliers kept saying they expected the rest of the Septics to leave before any of the ‘bigger’ Egos. Jameson, naturally, kept quiet and avoided those conversations. As far as he was concerned, maybe they’d be right.

 

The silent Ego was with Anti in the living room shortly after the Googles’ leave. The glitch was reading, while Jameson was sitting on the back of the couch, trying to read whatever it was over Anti’s head. It looked like a mystery, from what he was able to read before Anti turned the page. Dr. Iplier was sprawled in the love seat, dead asleep, while the Host was on the other end of the couch from the Septics, listening to the news with hands folded loosely in his lap.

 

Jameson didn’t know the Host well either. In part because the blind Ego wasn’t exactly the most social, and in part because the mute Ego couldn’t really communicate with the Host even if he tried. The older one’s Visions had grown so clouded by the time Jameson was brave enough to start interacting with the Ipliers that he couldn’t See what Jameson was trying to say with his slides. And now, the mute was too weak to even use the little bit of magic it required to make his word-slides appear. Thanks to Oliver, Anti, and Bing he’d started learning sign language along with some of the others who interacted with Jameson regularly. He still wasn’t the best at it, and often just had to just spell things out because he didn’t know or couldn’t remember the proper sign. That just set him farther apart from the Host; the lack of magic making it even harder for failing Vision to pick up.

 

Jameson leaned forward a little. Host was mouthing something, but he couldn’t tell what. A disgruntled sound came from under him, Anti swatting at him when the glitch ended up being literally leaned on, so he leaned back again—a tad too far, unfortunately. Gray eyes widened as he tipped off the back of the couch.

 

The resulting _thump!_ brought Dr. Iplier leaping to his feet, Anti whipping around to look over the back of the couch, and Host stopping his narration.

 

Ah. So that’s what it had been. He’d Seen the fall coming. Of course, the mute Ego thought with a frown, the one time Host’s Vision is clear for a minute, it’s when Jameson’s about to do something embarrassing.

 

Anti just shook his head, snickering at the other’s expense, and went back to reading. The doctor, on the other hand, was rushing to Jameson’s side (or, ‘rushing’ considering he was still clearly half-asleep), looking him over for injuries. The mute just waved him off, grinning as he already got over the embarrassment of the fall.

 

Iplier huffed and rolled his eyes. He fussed a little longer, then eventually wandered off—maybe to check on one of the others now that he was awake. Host wasn’t long to follow. Jameson just laughed silently from his place on the floor.

 

Then, he looked down. His lips pulled into a frown, and he lifted his hands; turned them over, studied them. He was more faded than he’d been last week. His hands were just barely visible, the rest of his form more see-through than it had been since his first introduction on Halloween in 2017—so long ago now, it seemed. Jameson knit his brows and shook his head.

 

Why couldn’t the fans remember them? Why did they have to forget? The Egos were so memorable! They didn’t deserve to be forgotten—none of them!

 

Jameson hopped up to his feet and jumped over the back of couch—landing right next to Anti. The glitch jolted a little, growl rumbling from his throat and fangs bared at the startle. The mute held his hands up partially to show he hadn’t meant it, and partially to protect his face. Anti wasn’t as bloodthirsty or cruel as he’d always acted in videos (he was actually fun to hang out with!), but he still had quite the temper compared to the other Septics and didn’t take surprises well.

 

“ _Can we talk?”_ Jameson signed.

 

Anti folded the corner of the page he was on, then closed his book. He gave the gray Ego an exasperated look, but relented. “What?”

 

“ _We should…”_ He stopped, racking his brain for the right sign. He’d never used it before, so didn’t know it and was forced to spell instead, _“l-e-a-v-e.”_

 

Anti was immediately alert: Uneasy, tense. His nails put gouges in the book’s cover. Jameson unconsciously leaned away.

 

“Why?”

 

The mute stretched his transparent arms out in front of himself and gave them, then Anti, pointed looks.

 

“…Right.”

 

Jameson nodded, then took out his pocket watch and tapped on the face. _Running out of time._ He didn’t have to sign anything for that to be clear. Anti ran a hand through his hair. He knew how Jameson was. If he didn’t go with the younger Ego, then the mute would just go Outside on his own. That’s just how he was.

 

Anti stood, grimacing at the stiffness in his back. Like the Googles who’d left not even two hours ago, he was slowly losing functionality. He might not have been an android, but the glitch was slowly being shut down as if his very core were being attacked by an antivirus software. Jameson was bounding up to his feet at the same time. How he still seemed to have that kind of energy, no one knew. He bolted ahead of Anti, to the spare bedroom they’d been forced to share.

 

Despite their differences, rooming together had brought them close. They acted like brothers, honestly; with Anti the sensical, protective, older one whereas Jameson was the little brother who had to be dragged out of trouble every other day. As ‘proper’ as Jameson could act, it was fairly clear that he was one of the youngest, and could definitely act the part with his over-excited nature and curiosity. That, paired with his unnerving silence—as if his feet themselves were made of shadow—just made him a hassle to keep track of.

 

Anti shook his head and pushed the door to their room open. He gave the other a very unimpressed frown when he noticed the backpacks. Jameson had their stuff packed already..?

 

“The _f̞̱͝u̗̲̹c̤͉̬̰̜ͅk̥͞_ , James,” he growled, voice glitching up an octave. The other just shrugged and grinned. Well, apparently he’d known Anti wouldn’t be saying ‘no’ to leaving. “You’ve been considering this _ạ̖̟l͙͕͉̺̙̘̤l̝ ̨̭̙̯d̩̲͎̮͕̥͎a̩͉̬͟y͚͎̰͟?̩!͟”_

 

The answering nod made the other groan, take an unneeded breath to collect himself, then Anti plodding over to the bed holding both packs. “You can’t keep doing shit like this.” Regardless, he shouldered his pack with a wince.

 

They headed straight for the back door, but Schneep stood in their path when they rounded the corner. “Where are you going..?”

 

Jameson took a step back so he was shielded by the oldest Septic, while Anti pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t going to go smoothly, was it? Anti had hoped to be out of there without encountering any other Egos. He didn’t want to explain to them that they were leaving, didn’t want to deal with angry looks or tears.

 

The hurt look in Schneep’s eyes made it hard to snap at him to move, though. Made it hard to tell him they’d be leaving. That, along with Jacques—who the doctor had never been very close to—he’d be left as the only Septic in the building.

 

“How the fuck you know we were leaving?”

 

“Wilford said—” Schneep shook his head, and stepped aside. “Do not be stupid out there,” he murmured, the hurt in his eyes deepening. Jameson, gray eyes wide, couldn’t help but step forward and wrap the doctor in his arms. Schneep’s remained limp at his sides, and he seemed tense in the embrace.

 

“ _Sorry,”_ Jameson signed upon stepping back. He looked close to tears. How could they think leaving Schneep like everyone had been wouldn’t affect the doctor? Everyone was leaving him behind, but he was too stubborn to take the one invitation he’d actually gotten to come along.

 

“Sorry,” Anti repeated the mute. A hand came up, and he placed it on the doctor’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Usually, the doctor and glitch could be seen laughing together, or Anti pestering Schneep as he tried to get work done. He was one of the only ones who could get the doctor to take a break when he overworked! While in the videos they were intended as foes, they were close friends when the cameras were turned off. Sure, Anti could get a little…riled, and Schneep snippy, but they were close. “Why don’t you come—”

 

The glitch was cut off as Schneeplestein turned abruptly on his heel, and disappeared around the corner. The doctor’s hands were curled into fists. Anti’s hand was left lingering in the air, mouth hanging open with the words that wouldn’t come.

 

Jameson’s hand on the small of his back made the glitch jump and whirl around. The mute brought up his hands, then pointed to the back door. The tears that had been threatening the younger Ego, Anti noticed, had come, leaving streaks across pale cheeks. The other nodded, shoulders sagging a little now.

 

“Come on.”

 

Anti placed his hand on the back of the other’s neck in order to keep track of him and, with heads low, they left Egos, Inc. without so much as a glance over their shoulders. They were leaving so that they wouldn’t fade. So they could survive. Why did it hurt so much, though? Was this how the others who’d left felt? The glitch’s chest clenched with ache. Why wouldn’t Schneep come? They’d always been good friends. Anti just…had to hope the doctor left their plane before he faded. That’s all he could do about it now. Hope.

 

Shaking his thoughts away, Anti turned his head to the younger Septic, giving Jameson a once-over.

 

Fuck. He looked like a young Charlie Chaplin doppelganger. The outfit really didn’t help the glitch unsee it, either. Though, it was very weird seeing Jameson in full color instead of just film-reel grays; his vest and hair were so bright! Somehow, his eyes were even lighter than their creator’s, too; a striking blue like a clear sky.

 

Jameson was looking his comrade over with a raised brow and slightly tilted head. He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the glitch, then passed it to Anti so he could see his own changes. In the meantime, he’d pulled a makeup mirror from his pocket to look over his own features.

 

 

Taking the phone in slender hands—no longer tinted green, but just a pale skin-tone—Anti stared at the picture. That was _him?!_ His jaw fell open a little. His hair was as mussed as ever, still a deep brown similar to Seán’s: Without the grays, of course. His eyes were a bright green—as acidic of a color as naturally possible—jaw squared, freckles dotting his narrow nose. His ears no longer came to points, and, after running his tongue across his teeth, he noted that his fangs were gone too! He looked like your average human male—with the exception of a long, faded scar crossing his throat, and a blood stain remaining on the collar of his shirt. No glitches crossed his form, though the phone didn’t seem to like behind in his hand as the screen flickered before Jameson snatched it back, not wanted damage to come to it.

 

The Egos locked eyes.

 

“Hotel,” was all Anti said, and the other gave a little nod, before giving the sign for ‘food’. “We’ll find a room, then something to eat.” He placed his hand back on Jameson’s neck to lead him toward what he assumed to be the direction of downtown LA. That was the nice thing about being connected to technology; made things easy to track, including populated areas.

 

The position of his hand on the other’s neck, he noticed, was easier to hold than usual. Was Jameson shorter, Anti taller, or a little of both?

 

Not important. First, they needed to start figuring things out to survive out here.


	6. Seal Your Lips and Toss Away the Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group 1: Ed  
> Group 2: Silver, Jacques, Silver's girlfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter may cause confusion--that is intended!!!! Jacques's 'secret', as well as his ability, are a small side-plot that will have a lot of hints before outright given.  
> Also, kind of an angsty chapter.

With over half of the Egos gone now, things had grown tense between those who remained; many of their ‘peacekeepers’ no longer there. Wilford and Dark were constantly at each others’ throats, the doctors kept getting into arguments, Ed and Silver were getting on everyone’s nerves, while Jacques and the Host wouldn’t leave their rooms if an argument was going on.

 

Since the Googles had left (already two weeks ago, now), Dark had been shot twice by Wilford. Jacques, no thanks to Silver and Ed’s bickering, had nearly cut off his finger while preparing dinner. The doctors, having gotten into a shoving match when conversation transformed into a heated argument, had even taken a tumble down the stairs together—both now with matching bruises and split lips.

 

Most of the remaining Egos moved stiffly now, a tenseness to their spines, casting glares toward the others. Honestly, it was only Jacques and, for the most part, Host who were staying out of fights. The two of them had even started talking with one another a little because of it!

 

A crash from the kitchen made Jacques jump, head jerking toward the sound. The artistic Septic set down his pad and charcoals and slowly pulled himself to his feet. His hands were shaking, face paling with the effort it took to stand, and he was forced to use furniture and walls to stay upright as he moved to the kitchen. He was the most faded of the Egos—however, instead of gradually fading like the others, he remained about the same as he had for the last…well, he’d lost track of when he’d appeared on the channel for _Passpartout_. Ten? Fifteen years ago? Unlike the others, however, Jacques at times became more visible than usual for him; other times, he was being bumped into because he was just too transparent to notice unless the others were really paying attention.

 

Jacques kept quiet about that, and no one asked him either. He was the least-known, after all. Sometimes it seemed like even the other Egos forget he existed.

 

Frowning, he leaned into the kitchen. Ed was the only one in there. It looked like he was cooking—wasn’t it Silver’s turn?—but at that exact moment was cleaning up the shards of a glass bowl he’d dropped.

 

“Y’should be restin’, kid.”

 

The suddenness of Ed’s voice startled the Septic. The older Ego was still kneeling, but now his gaze was directed toward Jacques, arms crossed over one knee. His eyes just barely peeked over dark sunglasses; a chocolate brown like most of the Ipliers, exhaustion in their depths.

 

“Take a seat.” It was more of a command than suggestion as the businessman stood up. He stepped around what was left of the bowl and took Jacques by the arm, guiding him to the massive dining room table. Couldn’t really call him a businessman anymore, Jacques mused, he hadn’t even brought up his business in years.

 

“ _Merci,_ ” he murmured, sinking into the chair that was pulled out for him.

 

Ed returned to the kitchen-area, responding with no more than a tip of the hat.

 

In time, the other Egos started filtering into the dining room. Some of them clearly distanced themselves from others as they seated themselves, air thick with tension. The table was uncomfortably barren now. With over half of them gone… Jacques had to force himself not to look at the empty seats and imagine the Egos who would usually be sitting there. It was hard not to do.

 

He thought of Marvin and Jackie sitting next to each other, elbows bumping; imagined the magician being scolded as he enchanted his fork. He imagined Chase ruffling Sophie’s hair, and the Twins joking with each other or chatting with Will and Bim about their show. For a moment, he thought he could even hear Oliver and Bing laughing together in the living room. His gaze drifted to the end of the table, opposite Dark, where Anti used to sit. He had to suppress a laugh when he remembered the glitch creating a makeshift catapult from his silverware and sending mashed potatoes right at Schneeplestein’s face.

 

“What’s so funny, champ?” Wilford drawled from his place next to Dark. Jacques just looked startled. His eyes were blown wide, hands frozen where they’d been wringing at his shirt. The Septic hadn’t realized he was grinning. He immediately ducked his head: He usually kept quiet at the table and wasn’t used to being spoken to directly.

 

“Just…thinking.” His voice was so small he wondered if the others had even heard. They must have, he figured, when their attention turned to Ed when the redneck started bringing in the food. It was nothing grand, but there would definitely be leftovers. Too used to cooking for lager numbers, after all.

 

The dishes were passed around the table, sometimes sliding over the polished wood when there was too much space between Egos to actually reach each other, but never once did something spill. Silver Shepherd helped Jacques dish up—the artist’s hands too weak to hold up the serving dishes—while Dr. Iplier helped the Host so that nothing would wind up on his coat or the table.

 

It was almost unsettling how quiet dinner was that night. Every so often one of the doctors would wince as they got salt in the cuts on their lips, or there was clicking from Wilford at he unconsciously played with his butterfly knife under the table, but no one spoke.

 

Dark was the first to be done; cleaning up after himself, then departing to his office. Then it was Wilford and the doctors. Ed and Silver both got up to start cleaning up after dinner, arguing over who had to do dishes. That left Jacques and the Host as the only ones left at the table. Host didn’t acknowledge the artist. He just sat silently, fingers knit together in front of him and plate pushed forward so it was out of his way. Jacques just kind of poked at his food with a fork.

 

“The Host would like to know if Jacques intends to inform the others of what he has been doing for the past six years.”

 

Yet again, the artist’s eyes were blown wide when he was spoken to. Why would he bring that up _now_ of all times? He curled in on himself and shook his head before remembering the Host couldn’t see the action. “Um. No… Why?”

 

“Jacques knows why.” The Host groped for his napkin. Upon finding it, he dabbed at the blood on his face so he could take a drink without risking getting it in his water.

 

The Septic wrung his hands together. “So? They don’t have to know.”

 

“The Host understands Jacques is not one to enjoy attention from the other Egos. He would also like to remind Jacques that this is an important subject.”

 

Cursing in French, Jacques’s gaze cut to the side. “Far as they’re concerned, the Googles have kept us all from fading, no?”

 

A frown etched its way into the Host’s face. Jacques could only return it.

 

“The Host advises Jacques against hiding this for any longer.”

 

“And Jacques,” the Septic growled, “will remind the Host that Jacques is nothing in the others’ eyes and they wouldn’t believe him anyway. No?”

 

In all honestly, the Host looked surprised; even Silver and Ed had stopped their bickering to lean back into the dining room and stare Jacques down. The artist never raised his voice at others, never sounded cold. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head.

 

“What’s goin’ on?” the redneck demanded.

 

Despite the Host’s lack of eyes, Jacques could _feel_ that stare boring into him.

 

“Nothing. _Tout est bien._ Just tired.”

 

Silver and Ed seemed to accept that answer and disappeared back into the kitchen. The Host, however, didn’t budge. Really, he could just go blab away to any of the other Egos about the ‘problem’, but Jacques didn’t want that. As such:

 

“Look. My abilities aren’t powerful like the rest of yours. But if I don’t want you bringing it up, you _can’t_ and you _won’t._ I—”

 

The Host held up a hand, so Jacques fell silent. “The Host understands the limits of Jacques’s abilities. What he does not understand is why Jacques refuses to let the information be known. The ‘leak’ could only benefit him.”

 

“I am not doing it for popularity, Host. And do you think _anyone_ would believe either of us? Let the Googles take the credit.”

 

“Then why do it?”

 

“Just because the rest of you don’t care about _me_ ,” he paused, taking a breath to keep his voice from raising, “does not mean I want to watch _you_ fade.”

 

The Host opened his mouth, so Jacques threw his fork down onto his plate to shut the other up. “Listen to me!” the artist shouted, leaping to his feet.

 

Wrong move. He’d stood too quickly; the world seemed to spin. His chair had tipped backward with the sudden movement, and Jacques with it. The shout had the other two peek out from the kitchen once more, but the _thud_ brought them running and Host up to his own feet.

 

Silver was already slipping his mittens off and running his fingers over Jacques’s head, feeling for any blood. Judging by the sound, he’d gone down _hard—_ there was bound to be a wound somewhere, right? Ed already had his phone out and was shooting a text to one—or both?—of the doctors.

 

Dr. Iplier had been the one to arrive. Turned out Jacques had a concussion, and would be on bed rest for a day or two, and no work for a week.

 

In the time that the artist was on rest for only a day, Silver and Ed had gotten into an argument that quickly turned physical. The TV now had a crack spiderwebbing across it, one of the end tables a broken leg, and Silver a black eye. The redneck had stormed out after they were reprimanded by Dark. It wasn’t until a few hours later that the others had realized Ed hadn’t returned to his room. It took a few hours more for them to figure out that he’d left _completely_. Right through the back door and into the humans’ plane with nothing but the clothes on his back and his cellphone—which he had turned off. It was another hour of Silver fuming, two of him trying to drag Jacques out of bed. The Septic had thrown up three times in the superhero’s attempts.

 

The next time Silver entered their room (Jacques having been shoved into the superhero’s when the Septics started staying at Egos, Inc.) he was wearing regular clothes; dark jeans and an off-white button-up. Silver’s girlfriend followed him in, pulling a suitcase behind her.

 

“Is that Jacques?” she asked as she leaned the case against the wall—she’d never met most of the other Egos. The hero just nodded, and Roxanne approached the bed. “All right, buddy. We need to go.”

 

The Septic just kind of grumbled and pulled the blanket over his head.

 

Silver ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll carry you if I have to. But we were supposed to leave with Ed and he’s _gone_ , Jacques! If we leave now, we’ve got a chance of running into him.”

 

Jacques groaned, but slowly sat up. “Fine,” he mumbled, “but only because you won’t leave me the fuck alone.” Roxanne helped him out of the bed and toward his dresser. Silver tossed a backpack their way.

 

The remaining five didn’t so much as bat an eye when they left. At most, there was a curled lip in a poor attempt to suppress a snarl, or narrowing eyes, but nothing more.

 

The Septic was the last to stumble out of the doorway, Roxanne and Silver catching him by the arms once Outside as he tripped over the threshold. He still felt nauseous and dizzy from his concussion, but there was a sudden strength in his limbs he hadn’t felt since _Passpartout_ was a fresh series on Seán’s channel so many years ago, now.

 

Jacques sank to his knees then, staring at his hands. He looked dumbstruck, close to tears, as he studied them. He had never, not once, been completely opaque aside from in his videos themselves. There was always a transparency to him; a clear sign that not enough fans remembered him. Even less had ever even acknowledged him as a legitimate Ego. “I…I have ne-ever had a solid form before…”

 

The woman was smiling gently, and pulled the Septic back to his feet. “Well. Now you do.” Roxanne pulled out her phone and turned turned on the GPS. She tossed her head in the direction of downtown LA. “All right, boys. Let’s find a place to stay for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I know most people don't recognize Jacques as an Ego, but I decided to use him instead of Robbie for this, and now he's quickly climbing my ladder of favorites. ;;


	7. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Schneep

Dr. Iplier eyed his fellow doctor uncertainly. Schneeplestein had his nose buried in work and didn’t seem to notice the other’s stare. He knew Schneep was the last Septic in their plane. Jacques, the only other one remaining, had left with Silver a few days ago. The German barely spoke now; tried to keep busy to distract himself. He wouldn’t even argue with the other doctor when they disagreed. He’d just curse and walk away—that wasn’t like him. He was too stubborn for that.

 

“Edward.” Schneep’s voice was gruff with disuse, and made Dr. Iplier jump. “You are staring.”

 

Iplier quickly turned away and continued rearranging vials and medications kept in the cupboards. “What’s our schedule?” he asked after a moment. The list was on the wall next to Schneeplestein, but too far for Iplier to make out.

 

There was a pause as Schneep adjusted his glasses and leaned toward the paper. “Host will be in within half hour for bandage changes. Dark missed his appointment an hour ago.”

 

“Figures,” Iplier growled. “Is that all?”

 

“Unfortunately so.”

 

A silence fell between them. Since the others had left, the doctors were left with very little to do. They used to be running around constantly; patching up one Ego after another, breaking up arguments, or being dragged off somewhere to watch a comrade do something stupid. Now the Host was their only regular, while Dark never attended his appointments to get the bullet wounds in his arm checked. Sure, they all knew it would take a lot more than a bullet to take out Dark, but the doctors just wanted to be safe.

 

“…You’ve been quiet, Henrik. That’s not like you.”

 

The Septic grunted. “Everything is fine, _Gut!_ ”

 

“Everything is not _‘gut’_ , Henrik! We have nothing to do anymore, and you still manage to work yourself to exhaustion!”

 

Schneep didn’t respond; just hunched his shoulders and continued with whatever papers he was working on at Dr. Iplier’s desk. Iplier just turned angrily back to his own task—purposefully being noisy about it.

 

The doctors had been ‘coworkers’ for a long time, now. They’d met shortly after Schneeplestein was created. Anti had introduced them, and they hit it off immediately. Iplier had acted like a mentor, in a way; aiding the Septic with knowledge he wasn’t immediately given at his creation, especially in regarding the treatment of their less-human comrades. They were really the only ones to call each other by first names. Schneeplestein was always just ‘Schneep’, while Iplier was ‘Doc’ or ‘Doctor’ to the other Egos. To each other, they were Henrik and Edward. They were close.

 

 _Were_ being the keyword. With arguments becoming commonplace between them they’d grown tense with each other. Their fall down the stairs had almost completely cut the thinning strings of their friendship.

 

Both doctors looked up from their tense silent treatment of each other when the clinic door opened. Host was there, and Schneep took that as his excuse to leave; slipping past the blind Ego without a word. The papers he’d been going through were tucked under his arm as he headed to his room, grumbling under his breath the whole way. Upon entry, the papers were thrown carelessly onto his disorganized desk, and he flopped on his bed. Schneep did his best not to glance at the other bed across the room; neatly made with covers pulled taut and looking like Jackieboy had never lived there.

 

Schneep pulled off his glasses and cap, tossing them both on the bed next to him. He stared up at the ceiling and ran his fingers through faded green hair.

 

He’d never felt so alone.

 

If Jackieboy wasn’t chattering his ear off, or Anti practically hanging off his arm, then Marvin was showing him magic tricks or Jameson doing his best to hold conversation with him. When he found time off, he would spoil Chase’s kids, or shake his head as their father and Bing tried some stupid stunt and got themselves hurt. Sometimes he’d talk with the King, coddling the older Ego’s ‘most loyal’ squirrel-subject, or stay with Oliver for hours on end leaning more sign language to make understanding Jameson easier.He and Dr. Iplier used to hold lighthearted conversation, flirt casually to make the other Egos uncomfortable so that they’d leave the doctors alone for a while; it was never anything serious, of course. He didn’t know about Iplier, but Schneep was actually uninterested in another romantic relationship after his wife had left him, but there was no harm in teasing each other.

 

Now, much like Dark and Wilford, the doctors were at each others’ throats—though they kept quieter about it than the oldest two.

 

If someone didn’t know them and saw them together in the clinic, they’d never believe the doctors had been close friends for many years. They seemed far to bitter and tense with each other for that.

 

Was there any more use for him here, Schneep wondered dejectedly. Out of the remaining five, he was the only Septic left; the other four were Ipliers, and not exactly the most endearing ones at that. He just…couldn’t see himself leaving this plane with that group. And he _knew_ the four of them would leave together. Dr. Iplier would insist on going with the Host, as would Dark. Wilford, as much as they bickered, would be right at Dark’s side. Schneep would be the odd Ego out. And chances were, he and Dr. Iplier would still fight after they’d left. It would be hard to repair their broken friendship now, and they’d only draw attention to the rest of their group.

 

So did that mean Schneep would have to leave on his own..? Like…Ed had?

 

The German Septic crossed his arms over his face, blocking out the light. He really should turn it off. He just didn’t have the motivation to get up right then.

 

His cellphone ringing made him jump and jerk into a sitting position; he hadn’t realized he’d been drifting off. He grumbled, but got up to get it off his desk. He read the name across the screen: Jackie. He shut his eyes and cursed. Schneeplestein really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. Blue eyes stared at the screen long enough that it went to voicemail, then it was tossed onto the bed next to the cap and glasses.

 

It started ringing again. Still Jackie. Again, it went to voicemail. Once more, it rang immediately after the end of the last bout. This time Schneep sat on the edge of the bed and picked the device back up. His thumb hovered over the Answer. What did Jackie have to say to him? What _could_ he? They’d left through Ego Central anyway; his group was in Brighton. Schneep would be forced to leave through Incorporated now that the Door was gone; into LA. Did Jackie just want to know how he was doing? If he’d left yet, or was close to fading? He had nothing to say to Jackie and, though Schneep had asked the superhero to keep in touch, the thought of answering hurt more than he thought it would. The doctor, with a pang in his chest and a shaky breath, hit Decline. That…hurt even more than the thought of answering, and he immediately regretted it, but didn’t have the guts to call back; it seemed Jackie didn’t either when it wouldn’t ring again.

 

The phone wound up tossed to the side, and he buried his face in his hands; shoulders shaking with retched sobs.

 

Schneeplestein didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Didn’t know what finally brought him to his feet and to the bathroom connecting his room to what used to be the Googles’; now just a spare. He’d washed his face, combed trembling fingers through his hair. His eyes met the ones in the mirror; red, bloodshot. Hair disheveled. Coat wrinkled, tears staining its sleeves. Was that really him? He didn’t recognize himself.

 

If not for his garb, he was almost convinced he was looking at Chase during the custody battle with Stacy. That was a time not even Bing could cheer Chase up. Schneep squared his shoulders at the thought. It had turned out; Chase had won the battle and got to keep Kyler and Sophie. It would turn out for the doctor, too. He’d get through this. Maybe…well, maybe he’d even find some of the other Septics. Maybe he would leave on his own, but there was a chance he wouldn’t _remain_ alone, right?

 

He should have accepted Jackie or Anti’s invitations.

 

Schneep waited until the redness had faded from his eyes before leaving his room and heading to the dining room. He could hear Wilford in the kitchen, and couldn’t help the distasteful curl of his lip; the old Ego just couldn’t help but make everything he cooked way too sweet. He seated himself at the table without making eye-contact with Dr. Iplier; the other doctor did the same. Dark was seated at the head of the table, and it seemed the Host was late. He only showed up as the food was being served.

 

No one was in the mood to eat. Even Wilford just sort of leaned on the table, playing with one of his knives. Dark and Host had pushed their plates forward, arms rested on the table; Dark with fingers knit together, and Host with arms crossed. The doctors poked at their pancakes with disinterest. No one spoke.

 

Schneep was the first to excuse himself, dumping his soggy food in the trash and placing the dishes in the sink. It was Will and Dr. Iplier’s turn for cleanup, so the Septic went back toward the long hall housing their rooms. He combed the tangles out of his hair with his fingers, pacing, muttering to himself. He needed to leave, he thought as he brought his hands up to cover his face, seeing right through them. He needed to leave…

 

Schneep cut through the office, toward the back door. Dark nearly running into him at a corner startled the doctor. The other three weren’t far behind; likely all headed to their rooms. Either Schneep had been pacing longer than he thought, or Wilford and Iplier had decided to put off cleaning the kitchen for the night. Either way, bad timing.

 

“Dr. Schneeplestein.” Dark’s voice was calm, but it sent the doctor’s hair standing on end. Fortunately, he’d grown more used to the demonic Ego. Still uncomfortable around him, but the color-named Googles honestly made him more uneasy than Dark these days. Then again, Dark seemed tired, subdued, anymore; the Googles were…well, they were the Googles.

 

The Septic’s eyes drifted between the four Ipliers. Dark’s weakened aura drifted lazily near his feet; his spine, though rigid, no longer held him in a proud stance and looked forced. The manic joy had long since faded from Wilford’s eyes. The Host looked tired, and his fingertips brushed the wall so he could find his way since his Visions had failed on him. Dr. Iplier wouldn’t meet his gaze. They all needed out of there, and soon. The transparency was most evident in Iplier: Eyes forced to strain just to make out his face. The Host followed him closely, then Dark. Wilford was the lucky one; only having it in his hands.

 

“I am leaving,” the Septic said simply.

 

Dr. Iplier snorted. “With nothing but the clothes on your back? Stupid.”

 

Schneep pursed his lips like he’d tasted something sour. Bitterly, he said, “I have what I need. I have wallet. I have scalpel. I have cellphone and magic card from Marvin. I need no more.”

 

The other doctor just scoffed.

 

“C’mon, Schneeple,” Wilford drawled, “y’can’t go out on your own!” He didn’t sound concerned; just curious, if anything. Did he want to know what was out there?

 

“I am going.”

 

Now, was the Host’s turn: “Dr. Schneeplestein—”

 

“Out there, we have chance,” the Septic snapped, immediately shutting the other up. He was glaring now, hands curled into fists. “In here,” he said through gritted teeth, “we can only fade from memory.” Like Mark Bop, and Chef Iplier, and Artiplier, and so many other small Egos who never got a chance like the rest of them. Never made it big. Who never got the attention they’d needed, deserved, to survive.

 

He shoved past them, not caring how Dark’s aura bit at his hands, or Wilford’s make his stomach drop like he’d just eaten something far too sweet while already ill. The Host stepped aside to let Schneep pass, while Dr. Iplier’s shoulder hit the wall roughly when he refused to budge.

 

It wasn’t that Schneep was cruel or hateful or violent (though he did have a tendency to throw surgical tools); he just needed _out_ , and they wouldn’t move. His walk turned into a jog, then a sprint, for the back door. As soon as he had it open, he stumbled out over the threshold without looking back.

 

He needed out.

 

Once he was through, his coat hugged his shoulders uncomfortably tight; to the point it hurt to move his arms. It was difficult for him to get it off. He was definitely broad-shouldered along with whatever other changes had been made to his appearance; more thickset? Felt that way at least. Luckily his scrubs were loose enough that they still fit comfortably—though his ankles were showing, so he’d need to look into getting a longer pair of pants, and a bigger pair of sneakers since his feet felt squished.

 

“ _Was zur Hölle_?” he muttered as he looked his coat over. It seemed so small in his hands!

 

Shaking his head, he threw it over his shoulder and took a look around. Egos, Inc.’s bridge was just some…plain looking office building. Schneep saw the parking lot, full of vehicles; people going in and out the front door—at least, he assumed that; he couldn’t see the front of the building just looking around the back corner. Did any of them even know? Probably not.

 

The doctor pulled out his phone to bring up a GPS. In doing so, he saw he had unread texts: Three from Jackie, and one each from Marvin, Seán, and Anti.

 

_Jackie(1): You alright man??_

_Jackie(2): Something wrong? Pick up please!!!_

_Jackie(3): Schneeps??!! HELLO????_

_Marv: we’re gettin worried plz answer!!!!_

_Seán: Henrik??? WTF goin on dude??? Where are you??_

_Anti: Jackie texted- Wtfucks goin on Schneep?!_

 

He sent a single text Jackie’s way; hoping to calm the superhero down (and hoped Jackie would calm the others): _I’m fine, out! Sorry for worry!_

 

Jackieboy sent a reply before the doctor could bring the GPS up.

 

_Jackie: Scared the shit outta me! Dont do that to us!!!_

 

_Sorry._

 

Shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut to collect himself, taking in a shaky breath, Schneep closed his messages, muted them, and brought up the GPS. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk, and needed to focus on finding a place to stay for the night. Not on killing his phone with texts. Wait…killing his phone?

 

“Fuck… I forgot charger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Leave it to me to write something emotional and then turn it into a joke at the end.
> 
> Next chapter will loop back to Dark, Host, Wilford, and Iplier after they left. Things can really start happening now!


	8. Tourists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Dark, Wilford, Dr. Iplier, Host

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the cycle to start again! Now the Egos are all out in the humans' world. That can only mean trouble...  
> At least this group is smart about it! Only question: Will the others be?

Dark couldn’t stand bright colors or anything too sweet. It was one (of multiple) things he couldn’t stand about Wilford. His aura itself was bright pink! There had been more than one occasion where the oldest two Ipliers had made each other sick because their auras were just so opposite each other. And Dark could feel that now, as Will’s aura reached out curiously—free to move for the first time in years and making the dark Ego’s stomach churn.

 

“Wilford,” Dark said sternly, “reign in your aura.”

 

Dr. Iplier raised a brow, eyeing the tendrils of pink as if expecting one of them to slap him. “Humans don’t _have_ auras, Wilford. You’ll draw attention.”

 

The doctor hadn’t really needed to speak, nor had Dark, as the candy-scented Ego was already reigning it in. He wasn’t stupid. Mad, yes. Childish, yes. But also very intelligent. Figments—Egos—had visible auras, not humans.

 

“We’re in LA,” the doctor said distractedly—he was still looking at the other threes’ changes, and Will’s black mustache seemed to be messing with him. “And most of the others are here.”

 

“Along with Markiplier,” added the Host. Someone snorted. He was about the only one who still called Mark by that.

 

Dark folded his hands behind his back. “Then we will go elsewhere. Too many of us in one place could draw… _unwanted_ attention. And I’m certain our _dear_ creator,” there was an obvious sneer there, “will have his hands full as it is.”

 

The doctor grunted in agreement, then eyed the blind member of their party. “Speaking of unwanted attention…” He went behind the Host to unzip the Ego’s backpack; he didn’t react, probably having Seen it coming, and stood still for the doctor. Iplier pulled out a hoodie—the same one the Host had worn for _Danger in Fiction_ to hide his face when he’d come up behind Ryan. His bat was also in the bag, but the doctor ignored that and rezipped it, the handle just sticking out the top. Host was already shrugging off his pack, followed by his coat—Dark and Wilford grabbing both items before they could touch the muddy ground. The hoodie was pulled on, Host careful not to catch it on his bandage, and then the hood put up.

 

It covered his face rather well. What the oversized hood itself couldn’t cover was cast in just enough shadow from it that a quick glance from passerby would have the blood on his cheeks missed. His coat was taken back from Dark, slipped on, and buttoned; then the pack from Will.

 

“Where do we go from here?” the doctor asked. It seemed decided they wouldn’t be staying in LA. So where _would_ they go?

 

Both he and Wilford wound up taking out their cellphones, checking maps. They glanced at each others’ screens now and then, murmuring, narrowing it down; Dark watched the screens, but didn’t partake. Then, from Dr. Iplier: “Breckenridge, Colorado. The population’s small, but it’s a tourist town so our sudden appearance won’t be as noticeable.”

 

Wilford nodded, grinning behind his once-pink mustache. A tourist town meant lots to do. Lots to do meant Wilford would… _hopefully_ stay out of trouble. For a while, at least.

 

“Coordinates?” Dark asked. Dr. Iplier pulled them up and showed the screen to Dark without really thinking. The demonic Ego’s aura almost seemed to lash out at each of the others as soon as he’d looked.

 

The next moment there was a curse from Wilford, then it felt as if the air had been sucked out of their lungs. A chill settled over them, momentary darkness, and then all except Dark were stumbling to regain their balance while gasping for air. Wilford was already doubled over, hands on his knees and pale as a sheet—he looked about ready to get sick. Their auras really were much too opposite each other.

 

“I _can_ teleport on my own, y’know,” he growled.

 

Dark just curled his lip in response.

 

There was a chill to the air now, snow on the ground; certainly colder than in LA, where November was rainy season. They were in an alleyway around the backside of some business building, gusts of wind sending chills down their spines. Wilford (not fully recovered from Dark teleporting him, and thus paling further with the action) snapped his fingers, pinstripe jacket poofing into existence across his shoulders. Dr. Iplier and Dark pulled their jackets tighter around themselves, while the Host stuffed his hands in his pockets. The cold seemed to be affecting him the worst. He seemed physically uncomfortable, and soon pulled his hood down further over his face to protect his bandaged eye sockets from the biting chill before his hands returned to their pockets.

 

The doctor had his phone out again, and was now looking through hotels in Breckenridge. Seeing what would be the most affordable. Eventually, he found one.

 

The four of them wound up sharing a room so that they could stretch their cash as much as possible. They’d chosen the cheapest hotel they could find and even that was a little over one hundred dollars a night. Luckily, their ‘allowances’ from Mark weren’t quaint; they’d have enough to last for food and rooms until they could find a way to make some more cash.

 

After having checked in and left their bags in their room, the party had purchased coats and was now at a somewhat crowded diner. Coats draped on the backs of their chairs at a table in the corner, they spoke in hushed tones. Some of the patrons would give them looks, and the waitress was immediately on edge once in range of Dark’s aura. She’d taken their orders, then scurried away. The Host pulled his hood lower over his face as she left. Fortunately, his back was to the rest of the diner so he didn’t have to try as hard to hide the bloody bandages from the humans. Dark sat opposite him, while the other two were on either side.

 

They were debating their next course of action. It was odd with so many voices lacking from the conversation, but they were able to come to agreements more quickly without so many different opinions.

 

“I suggest,” said the doctor, voice low and gaze scanning the diner before returning to the other three, “a period of rest. We haven’t had solid forms for years, and shouldn’t strain ourselves doing too much.” He gave a pointed glare at Dark. “ _That means_ , no more teleporting the entire party until your strength returns. If we must go somewhere, you and Wilford will take the Host and I separately; split the labor.”

 

Dark nodded, knitting his fingers together over the table. “Very well.” Dr. Iplier seemed taken aback that he’d agreed so quickly. Dark wasn’t exactly one to obey the rule ‘doctor’s orders’. Then again, he’d seemed more pallid than usual the last few hours—probably due to using his abilities too much too soon to get them to Breckenridge.

 

The waitress approached again, this time with a tray of four mugs. She set the coffees down and then returned to the kitchen. The doctor was the first to try it, and his lips turned down with distaste. “This is awful! _Silver_ _’s_ coffee is better than this.”

 

Wilford snickered and poured sugar and creamer into his own (way more than was necessary) before testing it. “It’s not _that_ bad, Doc~”

 

Dr. Iplier just grunted.

 

Aside from a few looks, their meal went uninterrupted by humans and they were able to return to their room after paying; the ‘tip’ line of their receipt taken literally by Wilford with _‘Make better coffee’_ written there. The doctor left an actual tip at the table, fortunately.

 

“The party should review the laws of this world,” said the Host as he stepped around an ice-patch (having been narrating under his breath shortly before so he knew it was there), pulling the doctor with him. “The Host is certain there are many the party will be unfamiliar with.”

 

Wilford grumbled, “The laws here are _ridiculous!_ ”

 

“Quiet, you.” Dark’s eyes flicked to their brightly-clad companion. Wilford crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue, but did actually shut up. “Though I agree with Wilford, Host is right. It would be too easy for us to break one without realizing.”

 

“That would draw unwanted attention from authorities,” the doctor added. Dark nodded his agreement, as did the Host. Will just muttered inaudibly.

 

Feet crunching in the snow, the party had decided to take the long way back to the hotel so as to avoid possible crowds. When they’d reached it, they went right on in and up to their room.

 

A few tricks later, a laptop smelling like peppermint, and a few exclamations of surprise as they ran across some very odd laws, and the group was already sick of the humans. Gun laws, ones on thievery and murder. Okay, okay. They knew about the murder one—it just didn’t exist in their plane. Unfortunately for their creators, Mark and Sean had told them a fair number of times: _‘You can’t kill people, dammit!’_ upon discovering severed limbs hidden in the trash, or blood stains in the studio. Their poor creators had probably been scarred for life with those discoveries; the worse fact being that even some of the nicest Egos had committed a few of those—like Bim, and Chase, and the King.

 

Dr. Iplier was half-tempted to take bets on which Ego would be arrested for murder first. As much as Wilford seemed the most likely culprit, he was leaning more toward the King causing another car crash—would that make it ‘manslaughter’? Whatever that was. He’d need to review legal terms. Seriously though, the King shouldn’t be given a key. Squirrel-brained idiot…

 

“Can’t carry concealed weapons?” Wilford scoffed. He was actually playing with his favorite knife as he’d said it, which made the doctor snort a laugh at the irony.

 

“Without a permit, it appears,” Dark added. He was the one at the computer; the other three were just standing in a semicircle behind him.

 

“Th’fuck’s a permit?” Will shook his head, rolling his eyes. The others shrugged.

 

The Host looked thoughtful. He couldn’t read the screen, but he could certainly still listen to the laws when they were spoken aloud. “The Host would like to admit that humans seem like paranoid, unintelligible creatures. More so than he previously believed.”

 

There were grunts of agreement from his companions.

 

The Egos seemed to be forgetting that Figments were a little more durable than humans and that they had laws for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. We have laws for a reason. Don't question it unless it's REALLY stupid. :I


	9. Identification, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Chase & his kids, Bing, Yan, the Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Bing Forges Documentation for the Figments

 

Chase and his kids, Bing, Yan, and the Twins had been staying at Mark’s for about three weeks now, give or take. The house was crowded, but Mark and Amy were helping them find an apartment near LA. Bing had been busy doing… _less than legal_ activities trying to get them all birth certificates, social security numbers, and ID’s in that time, all while hacking databases so they actually came up if authorities went to search or if they just needed the information for whatever.

 

Chase and the Twins worked to help find the new place for them. The Twins were already looking into getting jobs, too; they just needed to know where they’d be living from now on so they could look into news stations closer to home. They were just too restless without something to do. It had been Amy’s idea that they apply at a station somewhere after they were familiarized with the humans.

 

At that moment, they were in the dining room. Chase had his phone out, a cup of coffee in front of him, as he looked through any places up for rent. Amy did the same across from him, laptop casting her face aglow. They needed a place with at least three rooms. One for Chase, one for Yan, and then the kids could share one. The Jims and Bing had said they’d be fine in the living room—just as long as there was a place Bing could hook his charger up to. That was the tricky part: Finding an apartment with enough space for seven. They’d run across plenty of available places, but they had all been small one- or two-bedroom dwellings.

 

The twins sat side-by-side, two chairs pulled up to the head of the table. As they had their breakfast, they also did their own searching—they were looking for job openings that morning, however. Kyler was in the living room playing video games with Mark, while Yan was braiding Sophie’s hair on the couch. He actually had impeccable fashion sense, and had done Sophie’s hair and helped her pick outfits for years now.

 

Bing was in a separate room with the door locked. There was the occasional chirp or beep heard from down the hall, but he was otherwise quiet as he worked to create the needed documents.

 

When the android had finally departed the confines of his makeshift office, he was carrying multiple manila envelopes, courtesy of Mark. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, and had on a thin gray tanktop that let his faintly glowing emblem show through. His eyes looked strained, bits of yellow-orange static zipping through them, and they glowed dimly. Lips pulled into a thin line—he wasn’t smiling—and his hair looked somewhat tangled. If it was possible for the androids to get tired, then Bing _definitely_ looked it.

 

Chase looked up when Bing glanced down at his stack of envelopes, then crossed over to the Twins. The android took one look at them, and passed them their respective envelopes.

 

“Seriously, man. How do ya do that?” the father asked.

 

Bing blinked, then his blank expression turned cheery. “Android, dude! The Googs and I process images faster than the rest’a you. Take one look at someone, and I pick up the little details. Makes it easy to tell those two apart.” He tilted his head down at the Twins as they opened the envelopes. “For them, it’s their hands, hair, and eyebrows that’re most noticeable.” Sure enough, as Chase looked at them (they’d looked up to meet his eyes to make it easier), he noticed the things Bing had pointed out. He never would have on his own, though. Jimmy’s (Weather Jim’s) hair was more unkempt, while eyebrows and nails were neatly plucked and trimmed. On the other hand, Jim’s hair was much neater, but eyebrows fuller and nails chewed down to the bed. His hands also seemed more calloused than his brother’s.

 

“Before you start swooning over our good looks,” Jim said, grinning.

 

Jimmy continued the sentence without pause, “why don’t you explain what all these are?”

 

Bing nodded. “Just let me get everyone gathered, dudes.”

 

Soon enough, all the Figments were crowded around the living room, looking up at Bing who had seated himself on the edge of the TV-stand. Mark and Amy leaned on either side of the doorway into the kitchen to act as supervisors. Chica, the old girl, lay across Kyler and Sophie’s laps, with her head rested on Yan’s and tail wagging lazily.

 

“All right! Everyone take out the sheet that looks like this.” Bing picked up his false birth certificate from its place next to him. “This is a birth certificate. Make sure to get familiar with your human names, got it my dudes? They’re what we’ll be usin’ in public. _Don’t_ lose this.” He pointed at Yan. “As agreed, you’ve been labeled as Chase’s adopted kid. That means, he’ll be in charge of your documents, as well as Ky and Sophie’s.”

 

That went on for a good hour and a half of Bing explaining the documents and what they were all needed for. Then, came the quizzing. Mark and Amy asked the questions to each Figment in turn.

 

“Yandere. Human name?” asked Amy.

 

“Um. Yan…cy? Yancy Brody?”

 

A nod and reassuring smile from Amy. Then it was Mark’s turn. “Bing. Human name and familial relationships?”

 

“Ben Iplier. The kids’ godfather and Twins’ cousin. Your distant cousin.” Fortunately, Mark’s immediate family knew about the Egos. They’d been contacted about this, talked over it, and allowed Bing to add himself into official documents as a cousin (extended family had no clue about any of it, however). Bing’s appearance was still too similar to Mark’s Outside, so it had been one of the only options they could come up with.

 

Unfortunately, the android still seemed awkward and tense with his creator. Strained family relationship it was!

 

Amy set her eyes on Sophie. “Where are you from?”

 

“Chicago!” She sounded proud of herself for remembering so quickly.

 

“Very good.” Her gaze drifted to Kyler. “Who is Yancy Brody? And where is your mother?”

 

“Our brother. He’s a few months younger than me, and Dad adopted him when I’d just turned six and Sophie was only about a year old. Yan was still five at the time.” Kyler frowned a little as he went to answer the next question. Sophie copied the action, but looked more upset about it. After the divorce, and after Chase had won the custody battle, Stacy’s only link to Chase had been severed when he got full custody of the kids. She’d faded shortly after since she no longer had any sort of connection to the fanbase. “Mom died in a crash when Sophie was a baby.” Chase didn’t say anything, but reached down from where he stood behind the couch, squeezing their shoulders. Stacy was a touchy subject for all three of them. Amy could only offer a sympathetic look.

 

Mark took up the reigns again: “Twins: What are your names, and what do you specialize in?”

 

“Jim Iplier,” Jim said. At the same time, Jimmy stated,

 

“Tim Iplier. I specialize in meteorology.”

 

“And I in researching; especially recent crimes. Both of us in public speaking.”

 

“We’re best fit for occupations involving news stations,”

 

“Where I could be a news anchor, and J— _Tim_ a weatherman.”

 

The others looked like they were processing that. They tended to _kind of_ hate it when the Twins finished each others’ sentences, because then it got confusing. Bing gave the thumbs-up, though; they’d gotten it, and their tendency to speak like that might even get them jobs in the same station just because that would be a first for newsmen and could draw in more viewers.

 

The quizzing went on even longer than explaining the legal documents. They needed to make sure this information was drilled into everyone’s heads. Otherwise, letting them out among humans could end up disastrous.

 

They’d have to get used to some things to be out here: Chase couldn’t carry around his guns ‘just because’, Yan couldn’t stalk his crushes or kill people, and the Twins would have to be _extremely_ careful about not having breakdowns in public. That would mean finding a way to control their Visions, or at least not reacting when they had the more violent ones. Just to name a few.

 

As of now, with Sophie, Kyler, and Yan now actually ‘existing’ in this world and part of certain databases, schooling for them would be the next thing to figure out. _Apparently_ they _had_ to attend school? Weird. In the Egos’ plane, it was optional. And Chase’s kids had never attended; only Yan and a few other Egos ever had. For the time being, though, they’d probably have Bing homeschool them. As much of a senseless goofball that he could be, the android was also one of the most intelligent Egos with only the Googles surpassing him. Aside from maybe Oliver, Bing was the best option.

 

The human couple looked at each other, then at the gathered Figments. There were still so many things they didn’t know about, and there was no possible way to cover it all. Either way, the Egos would figure it out sooner or later. Be it through experience, or getting the information elsewhere.

 

“One thing,” Mark said. His voice was stern, and Chica perked her ears up, dark eyes set on him. Multiple other pairs in different colors did the same. “Humans don’t have powers. That means: _Don’t use them in public._ Under any circumstance! _That means auras!_ ”

 

The Twins and Chase all exchanged looks. It was the Septic who spoke, however. “Um, bro? Ya know some of us got no control over ‘em, right?”

 

“Yeah, dude,” Bing cut in. He still looked tired, but wasn’t acting it. “Bad storm gonna roll through? No stoppin’ Jimmy from fainting.”

 

Sophie chirped, “Or-or if someone decides to shoot Dad!” Her brother nodded agreement. Their father’s expression just turned into a grimace. “They’ll know bullets won’t kill him!”

 

Amy rested her hand over Mark’s chest before he could speak, casting him a _‘quiet and let me talk’_ look. He just held out his hands in an _‘after you’_ gesture. “All you can do,” she started, “is do your best to avoid situations like that. And if something does come up, you’ve all got us as your emergency contacts, right?” She waited for the Figments to give the affirmatives before continuing. “All you’ll have to do is stall without being…obvious. Just long enough for us to get there and explain for you if you can’t do so yourselves.”

 

“That’s why we’re trying to keep you nearby,” Mark said. “Makes it easier on us and you.”

 

Just because Jackie’s group had been the only other one to contact either of the creators didn’t mean the ones who _had_ would be kicked to the curb without any knowledge of the humans. Just meant the others were either going to figure it out on their own, or get in trouble because they didn’t. The ones who had contacted Mark or Seán would get the help they needed to walk among humans.

 

At dinner that night, with Mark and Amy pleased with how well the Figments had picked up on the basics, they all sat crowded around the dining room/kitchen area. Chica had nosed her way under the table, and now her grayed snout was visible from time to time as Yan or Sophie snuck her scraps.

 

“You guys sure you’re all right with paying?” Chase asked the couple. They were going over the details of an apartment during their meal. They’d narrowed it down to three possible places, but there was no way the Figments would be able to afford any of them as of that moment.

 

Amy just nodded. “Of course!”

 

“You’ll be getting jobs,” Mark added with a shrug, “but until then we’re happy to pay the rent for you.”

 

The Twins nodded their agreement vigorously from the table. As of an hour ago, they’d started writing resumes with help from Mark. Chase had really taken an interest in the laws of this plane (even if some of them seemed strange). Amy had suggested he look into law enforcement if his vlog didn’t work out. Bing, unfortunately, would be stuck at home. Drug tests, metal detectors—anything of the sort—would immediately set off a red light about him. Hence, why he’d be homeschooling the kids instead of trying to get an earning job.

 

Besides. Amy had said schooling the kids, watching them when the others had jobs, and probably keeping the apartment tidy, would be a job in and of itself. Especially with Yandere there…

 

Amy got up to collect dirtied dishes and to put away what remained of the meal. Mark leaned over the counter, fixing Chase with a look that the father couldn’t quite place. Was he… _studying_ Chase?

 

“How are you doing? Really?” the man asked. Chase just looked surprised. His expression probably said enough for Mark to elaborate without needing to be asked. “Out here. Seán texted about a week ago. _Apparently_ , Marvin told him that Jackieboy’d about had a panic attack when he discovered you guys were gone. He’d thought you _faded_. Have you contacted _any_ of them since leaving?” Though he talked softly, likely so he wouldn’t disturb anyone still eating, there was a scolding bite to his words that made it hard for the Ego to meet his eyes.

 

“Well…no.” He ran a hand through dark hair. “But _c’mon,_ man! We left without sayin’ anything—I don’t think the others’ll _want_ to talk to us!”

 

Mark shook his head. A sigh. Then: “You know Seán’s hurting, right? Marv and Jackie are the only ones who contacted him. Schneeplestein’s off the radar, Jacques’s never been close to him anyway, Anti talks to him through Jackieboy, and Jameson…well, he can’t exactly _talk_ to Seán if he wanted to, can he? He and Signe are worried about you. So are Marvin, Jackie, and the King.” He turned from the counter to watch Sophie and Yan for a moment; they were giggling with each other like schoolgirls. Mark huffed another sigh before turning back to the single father. “I’m sure the others are worried about you, too.”

 

Chase couldn’t meet his eyes at all now. “I know.” His voice was so small Mark almost thought he was hearing things.

 

The man clapped a hand over Chase’s shoulder in a way that felt comfortingly familiar: Jackie and Anti did that a lot. “Don’t shut yourself away from them. You’ll need each other now more than ever. You’ve all got a lot of adjusting to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. That chapter took a different turn than I'd expected-  
> It was kind of fun exploring how Chase and Mark would interact, though. :3


	10. Different is Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Jackieboy, Marvin, Bim, King

   

 

It had taken Seán and Signe a good two hours of searching different stores in Brighton before they’d found Jackieboy’s group shivering along the side of one of the less-visited shops. They’d actually only recognized the group because of Marvin’s cape and the King’s squirrel.

 

In the three weeks that they’d been at the couple’s place since then, Signe had gone shopping for the Egos. For all but Bim, their clothes no longer fit very well. Honestly, it was fortunate that Bim had remained the same height and build considering he tended to wear _very_ expensive suits. For him, about the only changes had been to his face. He looked younger; eyes lighter, rounder. Jawline softer; not as squared. And did his hair look dark brown instead of black? It was hard for them to tell unless the light hit it right.

 

Marvin definitely needed new jeans and a belt. He’d grown tall and wiry with a narrow, sly face. He looked like he could be a swindler in a casino: Charming smile, bright, attractive blue eyes, and small, quick hands. Most of his facial hair was gone; only a thin mustache remaining. All he needed to finish the picture was gelled back hair and a fancy white tux. Signe had to cut the thread off his mask and put a new, tighter one on so that it didn’t slide down his face, and now he’d laugh and lean on Jackie’s head since he was a fair degree taller than the others now; he had almost a good foot on Seán, Bim, and Jackie, actually.

 

Jackie hadn’t gained any height, but did look like he’d worked out in a gym for years. The flannel Roxanne had gotten for him didn’t fit at all now (it was a struggle to get it off, too), but Signe had managed to find a similar one since the hero had taken a liking to that style of shirt. His hair had become a darker brown and, while he didn’t look old, the grays in it were so much more prominent that even Seán had pointed them out. His eyes, unknowingly similar to Anti’s now, were a very bright green; as close to acid as naturally possible.

 

The King had lost height. He was even shorter than Signe now. Like Marvin, he was wiry and narrow-faced. His eyes were a deeper brown and sharp, beady; nose hooked and hands scarred and calloused from climbing. If Marv looked like a fox-turned-human, then the King _by far_ looked like the more squirrel-y version of the magician. Funnily enough, the two looked like they could be siblings even though one was a Septic, and the other an Iplier.

 

Seán and Mark had been talking a lot lately, more like they used to when they still did YouTube. The Irishman had also gotten into contact with Bing via Mark, and the two had been working on documents for the four Brighton Egos. They had names down, relationships. All they had left to figure out was how to get all the documents to Bim, King, Jackie, and Marv since the android was in LA, and then figure out their stories.

 

They had decided on labeling King and Marvin as brothers, with the King older. They were to be Ken and Marvin Iplier—very distant cousins to Jim, Tim, and Ben Iplier. Wow, those were some _very_ creative names, both Seán and Signe had noted.

 

Unlike Mark, only Seán’s brother Malcolm knew about the Egos. That meant they’d have to avoid giving any of them his last name or saying they were related to him. As such, Jackieboy’s name was made ‘Jackie Manning’ rather than McLoughlin. Bim’s name remained unchanged for the documents.

 

At that moment, Signe was running errands with Jackie and Bim. The other two were back at the house with Seán, going over how they were related to each other and to Bing and the Jims. It was awkward, and Marvin quickly lost interest in the lesson—which honestly just made it harder for his creator.

 

Signe, on the other hand, wasn’t having problems keeping the other twos’ interest; they were _too_ interested. Bim was all over the place. She brought him to a florist, and immediately lost track of him among the potted plants. When it came to Jackie, she was constantly clamping a hand over his mouth when an almost acidic-green mist would come from it, cuing that he was prepping his screech. She didn’t know the full extent of his abilities, and maybe all the conversations around them were overstimulating his senses? She wasn’t sure, but kept a _very_ close eye on the superhero. It could have just been that there were too many humans around them for comfort, or he knew that there was a problem somewhere in the city.

 

“Jackie!” she hissed, pulling him into a more secluded corner of the shop after catching sight of the mist for the umpteenth time. Honestly, it was amazing no one had noticed yet. His eyes were wide, alert; fingers twitching. “You need to calm down! What’s wrong?”

 

The hero just tugged at the collar of his shirt, as if it were too tight at his throat. He kept his head low, feeling exposed without his mask. “Back home, crowded places like this…” He shook his head and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he was watching the humans around them; a guarded, protective expression over his face, jaw set. “There was always trouble. One thing or another, crowds just drew it in. So many Figments killed, injured… How’re you so calm here?”

 

The woman’s expression softened. He was comparing the humans’ plane to the Figments’. No wonder he was so on edge. He was a _superhero_ back in their plane. It was his job to protect people. “Jackie… I know back home, you guys didn’t have laws or enforcement of them. You just had to go by your own morals to protect people, right? But out here, authorities do that job. But if anyone sees you use an ability out here, then that’s it. Seán and I can’t protect you then.”

 

“I-I know. I know.” He shook his head and combed trembling fingers through his hair. His hands weren’t shaking with fear or anxiety; it was stress, the strain of going against instinct to leap into action, do what he’d been created for. For the first time in _years,_ Jackie actually had the strength to save people again, and he was condemned to sitting on the sidelines to avoid drawing attention.

 

“Come on.” Signe gently tugged his wrist, and the Ego huffed a sigh before following her back toward the center of the shop. “Bim!” she called out, catching sight of him. “Let’s go. We still have to stop at a grocer’s.” She passed Jackie his umbrella, while Bim ducked under her larger one when she stepped out the door and opened it. Signe gave a smile and wave to a shop employee through the window, and led the Egos through Brighton’s streets.

 

While she was busy with that, Seán was growing increasingly exasperated with Marvin. The King was behaving, sitting patiently and listening to what the man told them about the human world. Marvin, on the other hand, had grown bored and teleported to a different area of the house with very little warning. He’d managed to lock the door to a guest bedroom—a room that didn’t _have_ a lock—and Seán didn’t know how to get it open when he’d found the magician’s hiding place. The door itself was glowing with a bright blue aura, clearly enchanted to _stay_ locked or at least keep him from touching the door.

 

“Marv, come on! You’re bein’ ridiculous!”

 

“But this stuff’s _boring!”_ came the muffled voice from behind the door.

 

 

“Borin’, but _necessary_!” Nothing. Seán went to bang his fist on the door, but reeled back at the biting chill surrounding it through the aura. He swore that with how cold just the aura was, touching the door itself would have given frostbite. Yeah. Definitely not opening it. “Marv!”

 

The King peeked his head around the corner, beady eyes peering down the hallway and locking with the human’s gaze. His head tilted, and squirrel chittered from its perch on his shoulder. His loose red shirt, cape, and crown had been replaced with a dress shirt and khakis. From time to time, he’d also find one of Seán’s hats that was laying around and would put it on for a while. At that moment, he was wearing a black baseball cap with a little Sam logo on the front of it.

 

Seán pressed his lips together at the sight of it. Sam had faded a long time ago, it seemed. The little septic eye had just eventually stopped showing up whenever the man would visit the Egos, making it painfully obvious that he was gone. If he’d known ending YouTube would almost immediately make the little guy fade…

 

Clearing his throat and pushing the thoughts away, he turned away from the King and back toward the door. “Marv?”

 

Eventually (as in, almost an hour later), the aura faded from the door—with it, the cold. Seán pushed it open immediately. Marvin looked completely relaxed, like he hadn’t done anything wrong. He looked like he was laying down, hands folded behind his head and ankles crossed, but was levitating about a foot off the actual bed. His wand rested within easy reach on his chest, and bright blue eyes shifted from the ceiling to the human. He brought a hand into view and snapped his fingers.

 

Seán jumped when the door slammed shut.

 

The magician moved into a sitting position, pulling his legs close, then lowered himself onto the bed. It was only when the man could be face-to-face with him that he noticed Marvin looked absolutely exhausted. That damn mask hid it well—especially since Marv was so much taller now.

 

Brows furrowing, Seán moved to sit on the bed next to the Ego.

 

“Hey. Everythin’ okay?”

 

Marvin forced a grin, but turned away from his creator when he couldn’t hold it. “I can’t learn this shit.” One hand found his cape, the other the bedspread, and they both scrunched and wrung at the fabrics.

 

“Marv, c’mon. I’m sure if you just—”

 

“I’ve _been_ trying, Jack!” Not Jack, he scolded himself. “…Seán. I just…I don’t _get_ it! I-I’ve been staying up at night—just to study this stuff—and none of it’s sticking! It’s—”

 

“Different?” Seán interrupted, resting a hand on the Ego’s shoulder. Once, they looked alike. The Ego like a mask-wearing clone to his creator. Now, Marvin looked as unique as his personality.

 

Marvin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Different.”

 

Seán just grinned a little. “You’ll get it. Just gonna take time.” He understood just how different things worked in the Egos’ plane. Hell, some of the Egos _killed_ people back in their plane, or they injured each other, and there were no laws to say they couldn’t do that; only light discipline if the others didn’t like that. _All_ of them had adjusting to do. And he dared not even think about how Wilford would do out here… “Just keep tryin’. I’m sure you’re not the only one havin’ trouble with this shit.”

 

“Heh. Yeah…” The magician shook his head. Then, he reached for his phone that he’d set on the nightstand at some point. He unlocked it, looked at his texts, frowned. “Hey…Schneep answer you yet?”

 

A frown returned to the man’s face, and he took his own cellphone out of his back pocket to check. “Um…No. Somethin’s up.”

 

“That’s not like him,” Marvin agreed.

 

Seán shook his head, brows furrowed. “Has anyone else contacted ‘im?”

 

“Jackie. Oh, and I think Anti did ‘cuz Jackie told him about it? I dunno if he’s answered them.”

 

“Keep tryin’. And I’ll tell Mark to keep an eye out for ‘im.”

 

The magician nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. What was going on with Schneeplestein?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have _no_ idea how many times I rewrote this chapter because I couldn't write something I liked...  >.<;


	11. Taxi!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: The Googles (Blue, Red, Green, Oliver)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, CabbageDynamite, for Green and Red's human name suggestions! You were a huge help! They fit really well! <3  
> Green: Hunter, as in the color 'hunter green'  
> Red: Jasper, as in the red stone jasper

   

 

The Googles had a hotel. Check.

 

They had their laptops and chargers hooked up throughout the room. Check.

 

But did they have the parts they needed for Green and Red’s repairs? Nope. And they weren’t having any luck in finding a place that sold those parts even after two weeks of searching. They were starting to consider expanding their search outside of LA.

 

Right then, Blue and Green were doing searches. Hardware stores, thrift shops, auto repair shops— _anything._ Still nothing.

 

Oliver, on the other hand, was helping Red lay down. The neck brace was off so that the charging port at the back of his neck was free, but that meant the yellow Google had to hold his head steady since he couldn’t do so on his own. He lay on his stomach, and brought his arms under his head to act as pillows before it was released to rest over them. Oliver took hold of the charging cords, connecting one to Red’s neck, and then one on either wrist. He patted Red’s shoulder, then moved to the corner chair where his laptop was still sitting on and open.

 

“Any luck?” he asked as he picked the device up, then sat down with it in his lap.

 

“None,” Green answered with a shake of his head. His voice was muffled behind the mask connecting to his makeshift cooling tank. The green Google was on the other bed, tank next to him on the pillows and back against the headboard. He was constantly adjusting the mask—be it how it connected to the tank, where the tube rested, or how the bridge settled over his nose. It was clear that the thing was really starting to get on his nerves.

 

Blue’s fingers tacked at his keyboard, eyes narrowed. “Expand search radius,” he demanded. The other two only nodded and did as ordered.

 

Hours went by, long shadows reaching across the room as the sun went down. Oliver peered out the window, then yanked the curtains shut to cast the room in gloom. He was no longer at his computer. He and Blue had swapped places, too; with Blue now sitting in the corner chair and Oliver at the desk. He had a project sprawled out in front of him: A single pair of glasses, identical to the ones the Googles usually wore, and tools.

 

“Ollie—”

 

“Don’t call me that, Green.”

 

“ _Oliver_ , fine.” Even with the mask there, when Oliver turned to look at his green-clad counterpart, the smirk was evident. The yellow Google just rolled his eyes and gave the other a pointed _‘what do you want?’_ look. “How’s the project coming along?”

 

“Human technology’s too simple. Don’t have much to work with.” He shook his head, then picked up the glasses to put them on.

 

Green snorted. “I thought the point was to make our eyes look _less_ robotic.” If anything, the glasses just magnified the glow of Oliver’s to make them more unnatural.

 

“They’re a _work in progress_ , Green. And I don’t have everything I need.” He took them off and turned back to the desk to continue working on the spectacles.

 

Blue gave them a look, shook his head, then continued with his search. He’d expanded the radius again, and was noticeably more interested in his findings now. Green glanced his way with a brow arched.

 

“A Best Buy with the possible needed parts resides within fifty miles of our current location.”

 

Oliver about dropped his tools, a groan coming from him. “How are we supposed to travel that far? We don’t exactly have a car and there’s _no_ way Red can walk that far.”

 

“The city has other means of transportation,” the blue Google answered.

 

“ _Public_ transportation,” Green muttered with a distasteful frown. The motion tugged at his mask, so he reached up to adjust it.

 

Oliver just rolled his eyes, “Doesn’t matter. We need to get there,” and put his project away. Then, he stood and approached the bed Red was laying on, powered down as he charged. He shook the other’s shoulder, beeping softly until the red-clad android’s eyes opened and he whirred in response. The yellow Google helped his comrade disconnect the charger, sit up, and then put the neck brace back on him—all the while explaining where they’d be going.

 

Green was busy untangling the tube connecting mask to cooling tank from his laptop’s charger. He and Red were already wearing their sweatshirts, so didn’t have to worry about covering up their glowing ‘G’s. The other two slipped their own on. The four of them made sure they had their wallets and sunglasses as they made to leave the room, but Oliver stopped them before they could reach the door.

 

“Hey, wait! We didn’t really have a chance to, but…we haven’t thought of human names. And considering how naturally curious they are, we probably should have some already prepared.” ‘Oliver Iplier’ had been the one to check out their hotel room, so it was something they hadn’t considered for the other three.

 

Blue gave an agreeing nod, but the other two huffed. “Did you have any in mind?” Green asked. He was wearing his ‘oxygen’ tank like a backpack, and still couldn’t quit messing with the mask.

 

Oliver nodded. “They’re really common, but they should work? They’re sort of color-coded for you two,” he pointed first to Red, then Green, “which makes them easy.” Brow raised, Green made an impatient _‘go on’_ gesture. “For you, what about Hunter?” He nodded to the red-clad droid, “And Jasper for you? Blue’s name _should_ work as-is.”

 

“Hunter?”

 

“Jasper?”

 

The two in question spoke their respective names at the same time, casting Oliver skeptical looks. The yellow Google just shrugged. “I chose the first ones I thought would work. I mean, yeah, they’re common—”

 

“They’ll suffice, Oliver.” Blue had his arms crossed, but was nodding. The other two gave him glares. They always teased Oliver about having a human name. Now _they_ had to use them—even if just in public? Great… “I suppose we will simply use Iplier as our surname seeing as Oliver has already done so.”

 

The yellow Google grinned, while the other two Upgrades clicked in annoyance to each other.

 

With Blue in the lead, Green flanking him, and Oliver falling slightly behind to walk next to Red, the androids departed their hotel room. They made sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign was in place, then headed for the stairs. The elevator, unfortunately, was out of commissions and apparently had been for a while. As such, when they reached the flight down to the first floor, Red passed his crutches to Green. The other two both took an arm and helped him hop down a step at a time.

 

Sure, he could stand, walk, without aid; but with those damaged discs, it sent bolts of pain up his spine when he tried. With the Googles always being ever so practical, they’d known it would be best to slow Red’s movement with crutches rather than mind with pain. The same went for Green and that ridiculous looking cooling tank. Practicality over appearance.

 

“Evening, Ipliers,” the man behind the desk greeted. His smile was strained, like he’d been holding it all day and was anxious for shift-change. Oliver was the only one to return a smile and nod as he held the door open for Red. It clicked when it closed, telling them it had locked. Both Blue and Green checked their wallets to make sure they had their keys, then headed off to catch a ride.

 

Getting a ride was the hard part.

 

Maybe they looked suspicious with hoods up and sunglasses on in the growing darkness of evening, because they just couldn’t _get_ a ride. Taxis overlooked them, and they’d missed a bus.

 

“Blue.” Red had stopped walking, and Oliver had one hand against his back as support. “I don’t think Red can go much farther. We _need_ a vehicle.”

 

“Sit him down somewhere,” the lead android ordered. He tried for two more taxis before returning to the group, core rumbling with a growl.

 

Oliver shook his head, then perked up and tugged at Green’s sweatshirt. “Why don’t you try on your own? You look like you require an oxygen tank, and humans might take pity on that!” He would have suggested Red try, but he needed to sit down for a while. The broken disks were pinching circuit-endings again, so even standing would feel like hell. So he just let red stay on the bench. Blue at one point wound up next to Red, carefully pressing his fingertips along the other’s spine, all the way up to what he could reach with the neck brace there.

 

The green Google rolled his eyes, but went back to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars of all shapes and sizes roared past; some honking, others slipping in puddles from the recent rain. He brought a hand up to his mask, then started waving at the next empty taxi he caught sight of. Sure enough, it pulled up along the curb and the cabbie rolled the passenger window down. When he spoke, he had a distinct accent. Scottish maybe?

 

“Y’need a ride?”

 

Green nodded. “My brothers and I,” he gestured at the other Googles, “have a long way to go from here. And one of them can’t walk any farther.”

 

The cabbie’s gaze went right to Red as that was said. “Get in,” he said. “Whoever’s payin’ can right shotgun.”

 

The Googles all exchanged looks. Shotgun? As in—

 

Blue was getting into the passenger’s seat. Oh. _Not_ as in the gun. Despite their intelligence, the Googles had never actually ridden in a car. So that jargon was new to them. Of course they knew it, but they—the Upgrades, at least—hadn’t processed its meaning in this case immediately.

 

Blue rolled up his window, while Oliver led Red to the back seat. “Are humans really that gullible?” Red asked. Had he been able, he would have shook his head. “Green’s not even a good actor.”

 

“Seems like some are, at least.” Green shrugged and jumped into the door Oliver had opened so that he was in the middle. He helped the other maneuver Red into the seat. Ollie had to go around the taxi to get in the only other open seat.

 

“So. Where’re you boys headed?” the cabbie asked. He turned the blinker on and pulled back into the lane.

 

Blue made play of double-checking his phone. The other three knew it wasn’t necessary. “Best Buy. 49-point-5-5—”

 

“It’s fifty miles from here,” Green cut in. “It’s the nearest one with the parts we need.”

 

“S’a long drive. You boys got enough to pay for that?”

 

Blue narrowed his eyes. Green scoffed. It was the leader who spoke, “Yes, we do.”

 

The cabbie shrugged. He didn’t ask direction, didn’t check them for himself. Judging by his grayed hair and wrinkled face, the way he moved through the crowded streets so easily, he knew exactly where they needed to go. Veteran cab driver?

 

“So.” The old man glanced in the rearview. All that met him were tinted sunglasses. “What do I call you boys?” Great. They’d gotten a small-talker as their driver. They could only answer, with matching rolls of their eyes:

 

“Blue.”

 

“Jasper.”

 

“Oliver.”

 

“Hunter.”

 

Immediately after speaking, Green and Red glared Ollie’s way. He’d given them names that ended in _-er_ on purpose! And they’d only just noticed.

 

Oliver just returned their glares with a smug smirk.

 

It would be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. Just meant to show how the Googs are faring. :3


	12. Wash It Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Anti, Jameson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not yet created Anti and Jameson's cards. They will be added to the beginning of the chapter once created.

 

Anti and Jameson had found a hotel. It was a small room with two tiny beds and the door didn’t lock properly, but it was better than nothing.

 

The glitch was constantly on his toes as the youngest Septic’s curiosity would get the best of him. With two weeks of little sleep because Jameson was up at god-awful hours of the night, Anti was exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and if he didn’t pay attention then the nearest electronic started freaking out. He’d never been so close to snapping at Jameson as he was now. At least back home, other Egos spent time with him, helped keep an eye on him. It hadn’t been on Anti’s shoulders alone to ‘babysit’ like it was now.

 

That, paired with his growing anxiety over where the _fuck_ Schneep was and why Chase wouldn’t talk to anyone, had him close to losing his temper.

 

At that moment, they were sitting on their respective beds. Jameson was watching the news, while Anti was trying not to doze off. He didn’t know when he’d grabbed his knife, but by the time he realized he had it, the edge had bitten into his fingertips. The glitch blinked, then pressed his fingers against his pantleg to stop the bleeding and flicked his wrist so the knife disappeared into thin air in a burst of glitchy particles.

 

Jameson was looking at him now. He didn’t hesitate to pull his handkerchief from his breast pocket, then tossed it to the other.

 

‘ _You all right, lad?’_ The speech-slide appeared on the TV screen, flickering with the sepia filter of Jameson’s aura. Since he had the strength to use those again rather than relying on sign language, he was more ‘talkative’ than ever.

 

“Fine,” Anti answered. He pressed his fingers into the black fabric, adding pressure with the uninjured hand.

 

Jameson pursed his lips. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He knew the cuts were nothing. _‘I meant mentally,’_ the slides said. _‘You’re worrying yourself to exhaustion!’_

 

The glitch snorted. “You’re no _fucking_ help with that, James,” he growled, voice dipping low. “Just sit _still_ for once in your fuckin’ life!” Even without it sounding glitchy, that tone made Jameson’s hair stand on end. Bright green eyes met pale blue. One set narrowed, tired; one wide, shocked, hurt. Jameson leaned away from the glitch, close to the edge of his bed. Anti just turned away, grumbling to himself.

 

It was quiet for a while. Anti had pulled out a book and was trying to read, while the other practically hid beneath his covers. Jameson’s aura melted through the blanket, turning it and the area around him gray. Any of the yellow light that touched him turned pale and white, and Anti knew the other had Muted—Jameson wouldn’t hear anything until he _wanted_ to, so was virtually deaf at the moment. Great. Now he was pouting.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Anti sighed. He tossed the book to the foot of the bed and got up, making for the bathroom. He wet down the rag hanging on the rack, then met his own eyes in the mirror. His gaze traveled his ears, his freckled nose, his jaw, then his throat. The glitch touched the wet rag to the scar there. The scar that, for as long as he’d existed, had instead been a bleeding gash.

 

For years, cleaning the dried blood from his throat had become habit. Sending his bloodstained shirts to Wilford to be cleaned, routine. Even before the Septics had been forced to hole up at the Ipliers’ place rather than their own. It was just a part of his design, the way Seán had rounded out his character based on how the fans saw him long before his first channel appearance.

 

The rag tugged at the milky-white mark, on the puckered skin around it. The color itself looked faded against already-pale skin, but it was still obviously there. It was still obvious what it had once been, how deep it had once run.

 

For the first week or so Outside, his own reflection would startle him. He’d even pulled his knife the first couple times. He looked…well, nothing the same would be a good way to put it. He didn’t resemble the glitch the fans had once adored.

 

The fans…

 

They’d abandoned the Egos. Almost killed them all. Forced them to leave their plane and come here—to a world unfamiliar. _They_ had killed Ego Central.

 

There was a pang in his chest. Ego Central. Guardian. Now a corpse disguised as a building. That pang transformed into sorrow, then anger, then numbness. Central had died alone. Sam and Tim had disappeared. Egos, Inc. would die soon. It would start dying as soon as the last Ego left its halls. The glitch wished it would be quick for the building.

 

He knew better. It would be slow, the magic fading gradually. With it, Incorporated’s conscious. It would wind up how Marvin had described Central in near-tears. In ruins. A feeling of death and loss clinging to its husk.

 

Anti dragged the rag across his throat, over his collar bone. Brought it up to rub at his neck and underside of his chin. His knuckles were white as he clutched the damp fabric tightly.

 

A hand on Anti’s arm made him jump and pulled him from his thoughts. He’d been so lost in thought and determined to clean away nonexistent blood that he hadn’t noticed Jameson’s approach in the mirror. Regardless if he’d been paying attention, he wouldn’t have heard the other’s forever-silent steps.

 

Wide blue eyes fixed on the glitch, and the younger Septic brought both hands up to Anti’s: Prying the rag from his fingers. He wrung the water from it, then neatly hung it back up.

 

‘ _It’s gone, my lad,’_ a slide appearing over his head stated. Jameson’s smile was genuine. Eyes soft. _‘The blood is gone. Replacing it is chance for new life!’_

 

Anti ran his fingertips over his neck, but nodded. His eyes seemed dull. “You’re too forgiving, James.” It was an attempt at apology. The mute seemed to understand it, though, and his smile widened.

 

New life. That was nice to think about. They no longer had to rely on the fans for survival. Egos weren’t at each others throats because a single building was too crowded. They had a chance to start fresh. To erase some of the things they’d done; murder, kidnapping, stealing, getting into fights. A clean slate. Untarnished by anything but memories that humans didn’t need to know about. Out here, their records were either clean or still nonexistent.

 

The blood was gone. Did that mean it could be cleaned from their hands, minds? Surely some of them wouldn’t care, but Anti… He wanted that. A fresh start. A sense of normalcy. Had they ever truly had normalcy? It would be a strange thing to achieve.

 

Maybe they could go to Mark’s for a day or two, have Bing get them the needed documents. They knew their names for out here, their place with each other. All they needed was for it to be made official.

 

Andy and Jameson Jackson. Brothers. It wasn’t uncommon for Anti to snap at the other. But hey, didn’t siblings bicker?


	13. Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Jacques, Silver & his girlfriend

Jacques had done a lot of sleeping the last week or so. He’d hit the pillow about as soon as they’d entered their motel room. As Dr. Iplier had said, he needed the rest, so Roxanne and Silver just let him. As a superhero, Silver had had his fair share of concussions before, after all, and knew how nasty they could be.

 

The superhero was seated at the edge of Jacques’s bed, Roxanne at the foot of the other, as they faced each other. The female Figment shook her head, running her fingers through once-raven-black hair. Outside, it had turned a dark brunette and looked crimped, rather than the naturally-straight locks it had once been. She hoped the crimped look wasn’t her ‘new natural’, or if she’d have to look into buying a straightener—she really wasn’t a fan of the new hair!

 

Silver had his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. They were speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb their companion. It wasn’t like they were keeping secrets from Jacques—he already knew about what they were speaking of; something they’d gone back to a few times the past week. He just needed his rest.

 

“—our money situation,” Roxanne was saying.

 

“I know, I know.” The hero scrubbed his face with his hands. Compared to the other Ipliers, Silver’s ‘allowance’ from Mark had been pretty small. It wasn’t his creator’s fault, though! Silver just didn’t buy things, never needed to, so had told Mark to make his smaller. Back in their plane, Roxanne made the money. Well, ‘made’. She could’ve quit her job and still gotten paid every week—just how things worked in their plane. Anything the Ego could need was already accounted for within Egos, Inc. or by his girlfriend.

 

Silver had his hair—did it seem longer?—pulled into a tight bun that Roxanne had raised a brow at. Aside from his tangled nest of hair, his features were plain. So plain, he looked like he could one of those generic video game NPC’s. Dark brown eyes, jet-black hair, short stubble, and a build and face so average that’s all they could be called: _Average._ Even his height was an average, exact five-foot-ten—and Roxanne had measured. Twice!

 

Roxanne let out what seemed like an over-dramatized sigh. “I don’t think you _do_. None of us do. We’re _Figments_. We’ve never _had_ to worry about money!”

 

Her voice had raised toward the end. Jacques groaned in response and pulled a pillow over his head, while the female grimaced. Silver patted the younger Ego’s ankle and muttered an apology. Jacques just grumbled and sat up. He had a disgruntled look as he reached for the water and painkillers Silver had left for him on the nightstand. For being such an even-tempered Ego, he could sure get grumpy.

 

“You are arguing about money _again?”_ he growled. There were bags under his eyes and judging by the greasy hair that hung in his face, he hadn’t showered in a few days. He popped both ibuprofens in his mouth, then washed them down with the water. Chances were, it was warm by that point and probably didn’t taste the best. They were in a two-star motel, after all.

 

Usually, Jacques kept his thoughts to himself. He wasn’t exactly one for confrontation. But about a week with those two, and he was getting snippy. Silver worried too much. Roxanne was too clingy. There were a few times he’d considered going off on his own. He didn’t, of course, but the temptation was still there.

 

“Not… _arguing_ , just—”

 

Jacques’s glare made the other Ego fall silent. “Arguing,” he said again. He shook his head, grumbling, as he pulled a small notebook out of the drawer in his nightstand. A pencil was attached to it, and he started…sketching? Drawing? Whatever he was doing, he did it while ignoring the other two.

 

The female Figment had a chunk of hair in her mouth, chewing long-broken ends. “What’re we supposed to _do?”_ It wasn’t clear if she said it to herself or Silver, since her gaze was cast instead at the blank TV. Huh. How long had that crack been there?

 

“I dunno, Roxy…” Without those ridiculous mittens on, the hero’s scarred, calloused knuckled were visible as he brought them up to cover his mouth. About the only thing _not_ average about his new apparance, really. Jacques could also just barely see a milky-white scar peeking over the back of Silver’s shirt. He wondered how far it ran; what sort of injury had given it?

 

The artist’s gaze returned to his pad before either could notice the lingering stare.

 

Roxanne’s fingers scrunched up the bedspread. “We can’t get jobs out here.”

 

A nod from the hero. Silver wrung his own hands together; rubbed his thumb over red knuckles.

 

“Not without evidence that we exist,” Jacques muttered. The other two only nodded a little. Without anything to prove their existence…that could cause a lot of problems. _Technically_ they weren’t United States citizens.

 

Unfortunately, the Figments didn’t understand what it meant to live somewhere illegally. Well, Jacques did, but only because he was the only one patient enough to start doing some research on human laws and government. The other two didn’t get it. And honestly? They…weren’t exactly the brightest Figments. Jacques would completely believe it if he was told Silver had the lowest IQ of the Egos. Roxanne really wasn’t much better.

 

The superhero huffed. “What d’ya expect we _do_ , Artie?”

 

Jacques ground his jaw and gripped his pencil so hard they could hear it cracking. “One: Do not _fucking_ call me that. Artie is _dead_ because of the stupid fans! _Salauds inutiles…_ ” The other two weren’t sure what that last part meant, or whether it was directed toward them or the aforementioned fans. Either way, it definitely sounded like an insult. “Two: Stop whispering to each other over the problems! You act like I need protected from the entire world, no? But you and I both know who will deal better out here.” The other two dropped their eyes at Jacques’s verbal beating. They supposed he could fit in better than them amongst the humans…

 

“Three: I am not useless. Unlike _you,”_ he jabbed a finger first at Silver, than Roxanne. “You two do not think! You are not sensible! You do not even think to ask me about the problem. I can help, but you are both just too fucking stupid!” The older Figments flinched away from him, instinctively reaching for each others hands.

 

So much for being the even-tempered Ego. Then again, he was so much of an introvert back home, no one really knew much about him. Not even Silver, who Jacques had been forced to room with back at Egos, Inc. For all they knew, _that_ could be the real Jacques, rather than the quiet one everyone thought of.

 

They weren’t correct with that assumption, of course. Jacques was honestly just sick of staying quiet for so long; not voicing his opinion or pitching in to help. He _wasn’t_ useless, or helpless, or clueless, or… He could handle himself.

 

He never would have said all that if a stronger Ego were present, though. He would have ducked his head and scurried off. But Silver was a lesser Ego, just like him. Roxanne was just a Figment, linked to the superhero; she had no powers of her own, not even an aura! What did he have to be afraid of? At the end of it all, they were like children. Every little comment hurt; every reprimand made them feel they did everything wrong. Silver worried to much, Roxanne too clingy. They made for a maddening duo that about had the artist’s eye twitching.

 

Maybe Ed had had the right idea taking off on his own:

 

Jacques wasn’t sure he could stand another day with those two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Salauds inutiles" = "Useless bastards" in French. Up to the reader to figure out who Jacques was talking about with that one. ;P (if wrong, please correct me with actual translation! ;; )
> 
> BOY, Jacques couldn't have handled that _any_ better... I think my boy is grumpy. :I
> 
> Next Chapter: Will skip right to Schneep's. Unfortunately, Ed is just sort of wandering LA right now, which would be a very short, boring chapter; thus will be skipped this time around.


	14. Missed Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Schneep
> 
> (Ed's chapter has been skipped this time around due to the fact it would have been short and uneventful)

Weary feet practically dragged over the ground as the doctor trudged through downtown LA. He hadn’t slept that night, unable to find a place with vacancy that he could actually afford to stay at. Maybe he shouldn’t have used so much of his ‘allowance’ for brand new lab supplies all these years…

 

In the day Schneep had been in the humans’ plane, he’d managed to find a thrift shop and now wore faded jeans, a football T-shirt (he didn’t even know what team it was), zip-up sweater, and sneakers. Honestly, it wasn’t a good look for him. But he’d had a hard enough time figuring out American sizing, then what his _new_ sizing was, that by that time he didn’t care as long as he found something that actually fit comfortably.

 

The German Septic had his hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, hood up, head low. One thumb ran over the back of his scalpel, the familiar grooves, the dent in the handle from when he’d chucked it at his lab door when he was a young Ego. Schneep didn’t tend to be sentimental about objects, but the scalpel was the first gift he’d ever gotten when he was still a new Septic; given to him by Anti…almost fifteen years ago? God. Had it really been that long? How old did that make the other Egos; the ones who’d been around long before Schneep? Were Dark and Wilford seriously almost twenty? Of course, that was in human time. Time in the Egos’ plane was far different; far longer.

 

Shoulders sagged as he thought of the others. He wondered how they were.

 

“ _Ich bin so dumm…”_ he murmured, shaking his head. Why hadn’t he gone with Anti or Jackie? What had started the fights with Dr. Iplier—one of his closest friends? Within not even two weeks, they’d gone from close friends to unable to stand each other. Could stress and loneliness really do that to a person?

 

Of course it could, he scolded himself. So could fear, or jealousy, or anger, or any number of other things.

 

Schneeplestein pulled one hand from its pocket, dragging it over his mouth. He could feel that his facial hair was longer now. Not long enough to be a _true_ beard, but longer than it had been since the day of his creation. Seán never had been very good at growing facial hair… Unlike his brother, Malcolm. Schneep laughed a little to himself at that thought; but it was a soft, sad sound. He missed his creator.

 

“ _Mein Gott,_ Schneeple.”

 

Since coming Outside, his accent seemed thicker—by quite a fair amount, actually. There was even an occasion he’d been asking directions, and the man he’d spoken to had had a hard time understanding him. His tongue fumbled more than it ever had with English words. Not only was his English broken as it always had been, but he was also stuttering, having a hard time with certain words. As a result, he was speaking far more German than English when he didn’t catch himself. Were any of the others having that problem, he wondered, or was it because he’d been created with English as his secondary language rather than native?

 

His hand found his pocket again, only to pull his phone out and power it on. After finding his way to downtown LA, he’d shut it off to preserve battery. It had been off since late last night. It was evening again. He’d better check his messages before the others started flipping out again.

 

More texts and a missed call from Jackie, Seán, Anti, Marvin, and even Mark. The doctor huffed. Couldn’t they just leave him be for a while? He really didn’t want to talk.

 

Shaking his head, he opened up one of Anti’s messages first.

 

_Anti: You alright? Talk to me Schneep._

 

A sigh. He was being too harsh—on both them and himself. He shouldn’t be blocking them out just because he was in a pissy mood.

 

The Ego stopped near a bench to reply.

 

_I’m fine._ Writing in English was way easier than speaking it, he noted irritably. _Just nee—_

 

He didn’t get a chance to finish typing when a human bustled past him, bumping his shoulder roughly in their rush. It took him a second of staring at now-empty hands before he cursed and whipped around, searching frantically for his phone. He’d heard it hit the ground. So now where was it?

 

There! In the…street…

 

A small car zipped past, blaring its horn as if the driver were laying on it. Schneep stared at the object it had run over. His cellphone.

 

Now in goddamn pieces.

 

Another string of curses. So much for being able to contact the others…

 

The doctor brought his hands up, running them through his hair. It was softer than it had been before; thicker. His fingers pulled on tangles as they combed through it. Nothing was going his way, was it?

 

More curses as he tugged at his hair.He could feel tears pricking his eyes as frustration gnawed at him. A few passerby raised a brow in his direction, but none of them actually considered stopping.

 

Schneeplestein wasn’t in the mood to talk to the others, but that didn’t mean he could go without his phone! Without answering anything, Marvin would eventually resort to Tracking him since Schneep still held onto his card and would probably wind up alerting the magician with it by mistake. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Marv teleporting to him and dragging him off to their creator. He needed time alone. To think. Collect himself. He just couldn’t be around the others right now. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to look them in the eye.

 

The doctor wrung his hands together, rubbed them over his face, then darted into the street to grab the remnants of his phone. Maybe the memory chip was still good, he hoped. At least then his contacts could be saved. If not, well.

 

“Stupid Ego numbers…” he growled. ‘Stupid’ sounded more like ‘schtooped’, and badly slurred. That was going to get on his nerves… He’d never been big on how fake his accent sounded. Now, however, it was _too_ accurate for his liking.

 

The phone numbers of the Egos would be impossible to memorize. They insured a human wouldn’t call one of them accidentally, but also made it so not even Dark could name someone’s number off the top of his head. The androids had created them, despite the fact it should have been impossible for such sequences to be actual phone numbers. That also meant if the memory chip from Schneep’s phone was destroyed…well, he’d be fucked, to put it bluntly. Surely, he’d be able to memorize his creator’s number, though!

 

Except that he’d never had reason to do so. If Schneep needed to speak to his creator, the button was right there with his name. He didn’t need to know the number to call Seán. Now, he was regretting not having it memorized.

 

The doctor seated himself on a nearby bench, facing the street. He started picking the phone apart, cursing whenever a broken piece cut into his fingers, until finding the piece he needed.

 

… _Pieces._ Broken in half. “Fuck!”

 

He chucked the broken chip. One piece each bounced off a very confused couple’s foreheads, but Schneep didn’t seem to care even when the they both cast him dirty looks as they shuffled past.

 

There would be no contacting anyone unless through the card Marvin had given him years ago, during the first week of the doctor’s creation. No contacting anyone unless he wanted the magician to appear next to him and drag him back to Brighton.

 

Schneep wasn’t sure if the thoughts he had were shared by any of the others, or if he was a terrible person for having them. But he just…he wasn’t willing to face Seán. Not yet. His creator had once been such a good friend, but they rarely spoke anymore.

 

He wondered, did Seán feel guilty for leaving the Septics to fade? Did Mark for leaving the Ipliers? And how many of the Egos felt betrayed by their creators? Schneep, himself, always buried those feelings. They were out of place. He shouldn’t be angry at his creator for moving on.

 

Anger really wasn’t the right word, though. Abandonment, more like.

 

Schneep remembered the day Seán posted his last video, announcing he was done. That he’d be moving on.

 

Schneep remembered how Chase broke down at the onslaught of negative emotions from his fellow Septics; overwhelmed by it to the point his kids had physically dragged him out of the room to get away from it. He remembered Marvin clinging to Jackieboy as he started sobbing, knowing he’d be the first Septic to go. The magician’s popularity had been dropping well before Seán stopped posting, after all. Jameson had been confused, Anti speechless and hurt. _Abandonment_ had hit Schneep right in the chest that day, making words catch in his throat and go unspoken.

 

Like the Ipliers four years prior, the Septics had begged Seán to give them the channel. They’d post the videos, and nothing he wouldn’t do, they’d promised. They begged him with tears in their eyes and words hitching in their throats. They didn’t want to fade!

 

But it would raise attention. The humans would start figuring out something was up when ‘Seán’ didn’t age as the years went on; when his hair swapped from green to brown randomly, sometimes faded almost blonde, other times dark, one time with grays and another without.

 

Didn’t make it hurt any less. Their creators had moved on, left YouTube and everything linked to it behind. Including their Egos. Did they…really even care about whether the Egos survived or not?

 

Schneep squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears. He shouldn’t be thinking that way. Of course their creators cared! Why else would they be letting Egos crash at their places? But his time alone made the thoughts keep coming up more and more frequently. There was nothing, no one, to distract his mind anymore.

 

Did Mark and Seán _actually_ care?

 

Or, at the end of the day, were the Egos _just_ characters?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schneep, don't think like that! D:  
> Of course your creator cares!


	15. It's All in a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Dark, Wilford, Dr. Iplier, Host

Thanks to Wilford and the Host, their little group now had the documents they required. The other two weren’t really sure what they’d done to actually _get_ the ID’s, birth certificates, social security numbers, and even permits for concealed weapons, but it didn’t seem they’d had that difficult of a time attaining everything. A combination of Wilford’s magic and Host’s manipulation of reality, the other two assumed.

 

While the documents had been easy to obtain…sleeping arrangements were another story. Four Egos, one room, two beds. That…would be a problem. With Dark claiming one of the beds, and no one daring (well, Wilford tried just be a pest) to argue about it, that left only one of them.

 

They did, eventually, come to a compromise. Because Wilford could fall asleep literally anywhere, he snapped his favorite pillow and a sleeping bag into existence and hauled them to the bathroom. The tub would do. Dr. Iplier had insisted on letting the Host have the other bed. The doctor had put some sort of absorbent fabric on and around the pillow (seriously, were those pads?)—just so they didn’t give the cleaning lady a heart attack because the bed had a bunch of blood on it. The doctor, himself, took the chair. He often fell asleep at his desk anyway, and the hotel chair was for more comfortable than the one back at his office. It even had a footrest!

 

That aside, they had work to do.

 

Dark and Wilford were both leaning over the desk, laptop between them. They were doing further research on laws, government, social situations, and whatever else they could think of for living out here.

 

…And muttered about pretty much every other thing they looked at. Dark’s aura was snapping at the air around him, grateful to be freed from the confines of his shadow but also clearly showing its owner’s irritation with human paranoia and stupidity. Wilford’s annoyance was portrayed through his cussing and… _enthusiastic_ waving around of his gun. He also looked pale; Dark really should pull his aura away from Wilford before it made him sick.

 

The doctor was hunched over his first-aid kit; taking stock of everything in it, making sure the machines he carried in it still worked properly. From thin air, he pulled a few rolls of bandages and stuck them in the kit. He’d need to change the Host’s wrappings once they were settled in better. He just needed to make sure he had bandages at-the-ready.

 

The Host was writing; in his grasp a fancy pen and lap, a worn notebook. Surprisingly enough, the writing was very much legible and actually beautifully written. The only thing that ruined it was when the occasional drop of blood would fall from his chin onto the paper. The other three weren’t sure _what_ he was writing, but he was murmuring to himself as he did; narrating the words so that they’d be properly written. They wondered what he was Seeing that he found interesting enough to write down.

 

“Doctor.” The Ego in question raised his head, quizzical gaze fixing on Dark. “Are you aware that humans require doctors to have medical licenses.”

 

Dr. Iplier’s lip curled with irritation. “I was aware, yes. And apparently it’s expensive to obtain said license and takes years of schooling.”

 

“Mm. Indeed.”

 

A snort came from the candy-scented Ego. He was twirling his gun with one hand and fiddling with his suspenders with the other. “Who would’a thought this plane’d be more of a hellhole than ours?”

 

“And these politics,” Dark growled. “I’d believed they were bad enough from the fans alone.”

 

The Host piped up, stopping his writing. “Humans are unintelligible; paranoid. Politics a way to gain power.Their hunger for such power causes even the Host’s lip to curl.”

 

A roll of the eyes from the doctor. He closed up his kit and shoved it behind the chair he’d be sleeping in for a while. “If that’s coming from _you_ of all people, that must mean their lust for power is _very_ distasteful.” He knew the blind Ego couldn’t see it unless using his Sight, but Dr. Iplier still cast the Host a pointed look.

 

“The Author and the Host are two very different people, Doctor,” he said simply before returning to his writing. The doctor exchanged a glance with the other two, with him and Dark rolling their eyes.

 

Dr. Iplier stood from his crouched position on the floor, grimacing as his back crackled. He approached the other two at the desk and placed a hand on Wilford’s shoulder so he could lean over them without losing his balance. It was almost laughable how easy it was to look over Dark’s shoulder with the obvious height difference they had now.

 

The demonic Ego barely acknowledged Dr. Iplier; the only indication he gave that he _had_ noticed the doctor was shifting the laptop a little to give him better view. He cocked an eyebrow and started reading the page. “Wait…” he tilted his head, eyes narrowed, “I…thought you _could_ carry concealed weapons?”

 

“Depends on the state,” Wilford growled. “Confusin’ as all hell, chap.”

 

“It _depends?_ How do they expect anyone to learn all these?”

 

The mustached Ego shrugged. “Dunno. But since we’re not Colorado residents, we technically shouldn’t have permits for carry.”

 

Dr. Iplier threw his hands up. “We’re not ‘residents’ for anywhere! Out here, we technically don’t even exist!”

 

Behind his bushy mustache (which the doctor _still_ wasn’t used to being colored naturally), Wilford grinned. “S’why Hostie and I made up the docs, Doc!” He waved his hand around—nearly socking the doctor in the process—and made his gun disappear into thin air. With both hands now free, he gestured at the four stacks of documents on the desk, right behind the laptop.

 

The documents’ stacks weren’t very neat.

 

The documents… Fuck! The documents!

 

“Wilford… Do I want to know what names you gave us?” The doctor had only just realized he hadn’t actually looked at the papers for him; just trusted that Will and the Host had created everything they needed.

 

When Dark rubbed his temple, Dr. Iplier’s stomach dropped. _Surely_ Wilford wouldn’t give them stupid names. …Would he?

 

The pink Ego shrugged. He reached for the second stack from the end and dug through it before producing a birth certificate. He handed it to the doctor.

 

 _Edward Iplier_ was the name it read. The fear was unnecessary, he realized with a sigh of relief. “No middle name?” he asked. He was pushing his luck.

 

Will just shrugged, but the Host beat him to answering. “There are humans lacking them. Warfstache and the Host figured it would be easier to lack them than attempt remembering them later on.”

 

The doctor nodded. “And the rest of yours?”

 

“The Host is Arthur Iplier,” the Host answered.

 

Wilford crossed his arms, as if pouting. “Hostie made my info—I didn’t even get a say in it!” Doc raised his brows. Will just mumbled, “Wilford Williamson. ‘Cause _apparently_ Warfstache’s _‘too iconic’_ —fuck that!”

 

Doc pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh. Wilford took so much pride in his name! The Host, over on his bed and back to writing, was smirking lightly.

 

“No need to pout, Will,” Dark growled. “Yours is nowhere near as… _pathetic_ as the one you selected for me.” The oldest Ego’s fingers thrummed the desk irritably. “I would have been perfectly content with Iplier as my surname.” Oh, no. Where was this going? “But, you chose _Fischbach_. Damien _Fischbach._ ”

 

Dr. Iplier’s eyes widened. _Fischbach?!_ Now that was a real damn gutsy move…

 

Wilford’s pout transformed into a smug smirk. “Sorry, Darkie,” he grinned. “S’what’tcha get when ya decide to teleport me without warning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually supposed to be a serious chapter. :I  
> The boys had other ideas.
> 
> Oh, and I guess this group's 'shtick' is making fun of humans. :I


	16. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Chase + his kids, the Twins, Yan, Bing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite group to write for. <3 They're a really nice way to relax from the more serious stuff that happens in the other chapters.  
> This on is for the Twins, too. <3
> 
> Also, you'll notice that there's now a date, time, and location listed. That's important, because chapters may no longer be in chronological order of times as they were in the beginning. ;P

****

**November 27** **th** **, 2030, 5:** **19** **AM  
** **Los Angeles, California**

 

As per their usual schedule, the Twins were up early—before any of the others, even. They went into autopilot: One starting up the coffee pot, cleaning up their bedding from the couch; the other hopped in the shower. Really, early morning and late evening was about the only time the pair could be seen apart.

 

Jim, the one folding their blanket and storing the pillows away for the day, was the one to realize there was a Figment missing from the living room. Chase was curled up on the love seat, while the kids and Yan had taken the floor. That left the Twins, who were already accounted for with Jimmy just in the shower, and Bing. The newsman knit his brows, head tilting at the empty spot on the couch where Bing had been charging the last…was it really three weeks already? And his charger looked like it was untouched from two nights ago.

 

“Bing?” Jim called softly. He winced when Chase stirred, then relaxed again with the Septic remained asleep.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck, free hand reaching for empty air. Blinking, it took him a second to remember his brother was getting ready for the morning. With a huff and somewhat awkward steps without Jimmy taking up the space next to him, Jim set off for the last place he’d seen Bing: His makeshift office. Where once, years ago now, Mark used to record videos. Where he used to rage at video games, cry during heartfelt messages, and just all around make himself known.

 

Jim’s mouth twisted into a frown. It was the same room the Ipliers’ creator had announced his ending for YouTube. It was the same room that led to the fans starting to forget them.

 

With a shake of the head, he pushed the door open. “Bing?”

 

The android was at the desk. He had one elbow rested on it, head in the same hand; his other hand stiffly held onto the mouse. Jim glanced over the android’s shoulder at the desktop, noticing he was working on Bim’s documents. He didn’t seem to respond to Jim’s presence, so the newsman shook his shoulder gently. “Bing?”

 

There was a sound like a computer powering on. Bing’s core was the first thing to light up, then his eyes as they opened. They both glowed weakly, and the android looked downright exhausted.

 

“I think you need to charge…” the newsman ventured. He grabbed one of Bing’s arms, tugging him up to his feet without waiting for a reply.

 

Low on power, the android stumbled as he was guided to the door. When he tried to speak, it came out as a series of soft clicks and whirs that had the other Ego looking at him quizzically. There were a few more clicks as he reset his vocal processor, then a static-filled, “But I need to finish—”

 

“No. Not right now, you don’t.” He tugged the android back toward the living room; steadying him whenever he stumbled.

 

“But…Marv’ll be here—”

 

“In two weeks,” Jim cut in. “You’ve got two weeks to finish up their documents, and you’re almost done anyway. You can risk a break.” A smile. “You don’t need to prove anything to us, all right?”

 

 

The android didn’t argue; far too tired to do so, and also grateful for the newsman’s words. He’d taken up a task the Googles would have usually filled, and overworking himself because of it. He wasn’t the Googles, and didn’t need to be—shouldn’t be—trying to fill all their roles.

 

Once Bing was settled on the couch, footrest up so he could lay back comfortably, Jim attached the charger to his wrists. The newsman then raised a brow, the third cord in hand and waiting for the other to shift to make the final charging-port available. Bing just chuckled softly as he crossed his arms over his chest; a comfortable way to keep them without risking damage to the cords sticking out of them. Then the android turned his head to one side, and the newsman connected the third at the back of his neck—where the skull would meet the neck, and thus, the port well hidden by his hairline.

 

Bing was powered back down in moments, willfully slipping into his own version of sleep.

 

With that done, the newsman made his way into the kitchen. He checked the coffee to make sure it was brewing, then started up the stove. Back home, the Twins were often the first ones up right alongside Dark, the doctors, superheroes, and Bim. As such, the Twins were the ones who usually cooked breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen afterward. Bim often helped with that, too. It had taken some getting used to doing so without him. Mark and Amy seemed to appreciate it, though.

 

Jim didn’t even react when his brother, fresh out of the shower and smelling like hair products, nudged him out of the way to finish frying the bacon he’d started. Jim just rolled his eyes with a grin and leaned on the counter near the stove.

 

“What did you See last night?” Jimmy asked. He wasn’t watching his brother, but there was genuine curiosity and concern in his voice.

 

Jim shrugged lightly. “Nothing terrible this time. Car crash; killed the couple, but their child survived.” Jim’s definition of ‘terrible’ was more one of ‘no kids died or mass shootings occurred’. Due to his Sight, he’d gotten pretty used to horrific deaths, but those two particular types always got to him. “What about you?”

 

“Category Three hurricane started in Cancun. They didn’t even see it coming.” Jimmy turned the bacon with a hum. His hand flinched away when grease splattered it, causing him to give the partially cooked meat a death glare.

 

His brother laughed, rolling his eyes. “So you’re telling me I should expect to See storm-related deaths for a while?”

 

“…Pretty much.”

 

“Good. Those are easier to deal with than murders.” He shook his head, smile wavering. “Humans can be an awful species.”

 

Jimmy made a noise of agreement.

 

They both glanced up when Yan stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Because he’d attended school back in the Egos’ plane, he was always up not long after the early risers; by around six o’clock on the dot, usually.

 

“Hey!” the Twins greeted cheerily.

 

Yan returned a tired a tired wave and seated himself at the table. He still had pajamas on, and his hair was a mess.

 

Jim pushed himself away from the counter. One hand found his brother’s shoulder momentarily in a _‘be back in a minute’_ gesture, then he approached the physically younger Ego. “We picked some clothes up when we went out with Amy yesterday. C’mon.”

 

“You…found me clothes?” He sounded skeptical as he followed the newsman out of the kitchen and to a guest bedroom. Funnily enough, there were actually enough rooms for the Egos to not have to argue over beds, but after falling asleep in the living room enough times, they’d gotten used to it and hadn’t bothered with the spare rooms.

 

The newsman just laughed. “Don’t worry. Amy picked yours. We think you’ll like them!”

 

A relieved sigh left Yandere. Jim tried to look offended, but his expression didn’t exactly make it convincing.

 

Entering the room revealed multiple stacks of brand new, neatly folded clothes. Each stack had a piece of paper on top with a Figment’s name written across in blue marker. Yan trifled through his respective stack, a smile growing on his face. There were a lot of cute shirts, some skirts, and a few briefs. Some leggings, new shoes since his old ones were too big now, and even a dress!

 

“They’re so pretty!” he gasped. He snatched up a frilly white shirt, dark blue skirt, and white leggings from his new clothes; admiring the pattern on the skirt. It was enough to make it so his chosen outfit wouldn’t be too bland, but also little enough to not make it overwhelming. Yan grinned at Jim, then darted out of the room with the outfit to shower and get ready for the day.

 

The newsman shut the door behind the yandere, making sure to lock it before selecting an outfit for himself and throwing it on. His own consisted of a gray dress shirt and a pair of slacks. He left the top button undone, tucked the shirt into his waistband, then put a dark belt on. He slipped back out of the room and right back to the kitchen.

 

Jim flung an arm around his brother’s neck, bumping Jimmy with his hip so he could take over with finishing breakfast. The weatherman shoved him good-naturedly, then went to start getting coffee ready for those already awake, or who’d be waking soon. It was comfortable routine and had been for years.

 

“You two spoil us, you know that?” A distinctly female voice came from the entryway to the kitchen, and the Twins both grinned over their shoulders at her.

 

“Amy!” the greeted.

 

“Seriously,” she laughed, “How early do you get up to do this every day?”

 

“Five!” they both answered.

 

Jimmy set a cup of coffee in front of her once she’d seated herself, then got a plate ready for the bacon. He also pulled the carton of eggs out of the fridge and set them next to the stove.

 

Amy smiled behind her mug as she watched the Twins move about the kitchen with ease. They dodged around each other as if they’d choreographed their exact steps, occasionally switching who did what task until they had a plate heaping with bacon, and bowl full of scrambled eggs, set on the table.

 

By that time, Mark, Chase, and the kids had also awoken. Not much later, Yan exited the bathroom and also seated himself. He was messing with the fabric of his skirt, and looked genuinely happy with the outfit. It also looked like he’d taken the time to curl his bangs; the vibrantly red hair falling over one eye.

 

Jim had explained the situation with Bing, so they all just left him to recharge for however long it would take.

 

“So,” Mark started after a while, “we’ve gotten into contact with the landlord to the place you guys are interested in. She says you can move in next week. She’d just making sure nothing’s damaged in the place before allowing residence.”

 

The Figments all grinned at each other. They’d found an apartment, a duplex, that would work perfectly. It actually had four bedrooms—three upstairs and one down—but was fairly cheap because it was in a very noisy part of the city that wasn’t exactly the safest. Like Egos were afraid of robbers, though. And they could sleep through anything ranging from an argument to a gunshot when needed. Traffic and construction couldn’t be nearly as bad.

 

The Twins nudged each other. “And we’ve got an interview!” Jim said.

 

His brother nodded enthusiastically. “In three days,” he added. “For a news station!”

 

“They were willing to interview us together after talking over the phone for a while.”

 

Now it was Chase’s turn to nudge the nearest twin to him—that being Jimmy. “I’m sure you’ll both do great!”

 

All the Figments looked excited, honestly. They didn’t know how well the other Egos were settling in, or if all of them had even left their plane yet, but their group was ready and willing to start a new life Outside.

 

They truly did wonder how the others were doing, though. Only Mark and Amy had been in contact with some of them, and it was really only through Seán so that Marvin knew when to teleport on over to collect the Brighton Egos’ documents.

 

Maybe they should start trying to get in contact with some of them.


	17. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Jackieboy, Marvin, Bim, King

****

**November 27** **th** **, 2030, 7:00 PM  
** **Brighton, England**

 

The last few weeks had been… _uneventful_ , to say the least. Well, in Bim’s opinion. And that wasn’t counting their little group actually leaving the Egos’ plane—now _that_ had been quite the event! The game show host could tell that the other three (along with himself) were bored out of their minds, though.

 

Marvin was constantly playing with a deck of cards just so he’d have something to do. Thankfully it was a regular deck, and not his cards with the other Egos on them: Bim hated how it made the one he kept in his breast pocket heat up. It was uncomfortable, and he felt like it was an invasion of privacy considering the magician could track the others through the cards he’d given them all. Bim knew it was for safety reasons, but that still didn’t make it any less discomforting.

 

The King was constantly trying to entertain himself. Be it by climbing out an open window and onto the roof, or rummaging through pantries just to see what was in them (much to the annoyance of their hosts). His squirrel seemed pretty bored, too, and had even made a nest in Bim’s favorite jacket! That had been a nice thing to start getting dressed to…

 

Even so, Bim had kept a smile on his face—even if it wavered a little when he could have sworn King’s squirrel was glaring at him for shaking it out of the sleeve of said jacket with unnecessary harshness. Bim had never really been fond of animals, and he was pretty convinced that squirrel knew it, too.

 

The old Ego’s gaze flicked over to Jackieboy. The superhero had been fidgety practically since arriving; restless and jumpy. He was watching the TV, but his gaze was distant as if looking right through it. His fingers were tapping the arms of the recliner he sat in, form slouched. It was clear that Signe and Seán noticed, too, as they kept glancing in Jackie’s direction. He wasn’t quite himself lately, and it was obvious.

 

There was a slapping sound as Marvin’s cards all fell into a neat, hasty pile that immediately dissipated into thin air. Now the magician was eyeing Jackie, too. He was the first to actually get up and approach the recliner. When he’d rested a hand on Jackie’s shoulder, the other jolted with eyes wide and fisted hands shooting up in a defensive manner. The impressive part was that Marvin didn’t so much as flinch. He just grabbed one of Jackie’s arms and pulled him up to his feet.

 

“You need to relax. Nothing’s gonna hurt them,” was all Bim could hear the magician say before he guided the older Septic to one of the guest bedrooms.

 

Signe had a look of concern over her face, and she looked about ready to follow the other two. Seán stopped her by grabbing one of her hands and cupping it in his. “He’s a superhero,” the ex-YouTuber explained, “and used to protectin’ people. He can’t do that out here and it’s got ‘im antsy.”

 

The look in Signe’s eyes said that she knew that already, while the slump of her shoulders clearly showed her concern.

 

Bim, unable to do a whole lot for the situation, excused himself and parted for the kitchen. It was just after seven; may as well start dinner. …Supper? Evening meal? Bim really didn’t care what the meal was supposed to be ‘properly’ called. A meal was a meal.

 

The show host started up the stove and started setting up some ingredients. He wondered to himself what he’d make. When he used to cook with the Twins, they’d always been the ones to decide on _what_ to make, then the three of them would work together to actually prepare it. That thought made a frown fall over Bim’s face. He didn’t like cooking without the Twins. It was too boring. Too quiet, without them there. It made him wonder how they were doing. He hoped they were well…

 

With a soft sigh, Bim went and started rummaging through the fridge, then the freezer. From them he produced some hamburger, hash-browns, and cheese. He’d make a hotdish; something easy. That would make a good meal, right?

 

It wasn’t long before the smell of beef and hash-browns wafted through the kitchen.

 

And Bim gagged as soon as that scent hit him. His stomach dropped when he knew exactly what that meant, and he covered his nose with his sleeve; a whine leaving him. It was a pitiful sound, and he could hear scrabbling paws as the King’s squirrel came to investigate it. Bim tried to shoo it off the counter, one hand still firmly clamped over his nose and mouth. “Go on! Shoo, you!” the show host mumbled around his sleeve, waving the wooden spoon around at the rodent.

 

The squirrel just chittered and twitched its tail, a tiny paw lashing out at Bim’s hand. The damn thing was too much like a cat, in Bim’s opinion…

 

“Horatio.” The King’s voice came from the entryway to the kitchen. His arms were crossed disapprovingly, making even his almost hilariously small form appear rather authoritative. The squirrel, in turn, lowered its head and jumped down from the counter, skittering on over to the old Ego. It launched itself up, grabbing hold of his sleeve, and pulled itself up on his shoulder to hide at his neck.

 

Bim had always found that such an odd name for a squirrel. Then again, it was fitting when the King was such a fan of Shakespeare. Of course he’d name the squirrel after the sole survivor of his favorite tragedy.

 

The older Ego’s brows knit at sight of the show host covering his face. “Bim? Is your—?” King didn’t finish, but it was pretty clear to the other what he was going to say.

 

In response, Bim could only nod. Sometimes, he wished it was human. The damned cravings would have been long gone by now if that was the case, since he hadn’t sated them for…when was the last time, even? It was like a permanent addiction that popped up out of nowhere at random times, and he hated it. It wasn’t that he hated the craving itself—he’d always had a hard time seeing why it was so wrong, but had obliged the others by quitting (or trying to)—it was just how annoying it was.

 

Before he knew what was even going on, the King had nudged him aside and snatched the wooden spoon from his hand. “Go rest,” the older Ego ordered as he took Bim’s place at the stove. “Once Jackie’s settled down, I’ll send him in with you.”

 

Bim nodded again, sleeve still firmly planted over his face. He retreated from the kitchen without another word, making a b-line for one of the other bedrooms. By the time he’d reached one of them, his hands were shaking; he glared at the one that reached for the doorknob, silently willing it to quit.

 

The doctors had both stated that Bim displayed symptoms of withdrawal every time his cravings came up and he did nothing to sate them. It was an awful feeling that he just wanted to go away. What made it worse was that the doctors had been forced to come up with a new series of symptoms, because Bim’s didn’t really match any from existing forms of withdrawal.

 

Then again, he _was_ the only cannibalistic Figment they were aware of, and ‘addiction’ for Egos worked a _little_ different than with humans.

 

Bim undid his tie with trembling fingers and shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing them both on the bed almost carelessly as he sat on the edge of it. After a moment’s hesitation, he also rolled up his sleeves, then fumbled to undo the first button of his shirt, tugging at the collar. He could’ve sworn the fabric was trying to choke him!

 

From there, it was really just a downward spiral. His shaking worsened to the point he was practically shivering; he broke into a cold sweat; breaths labored. His stomach was in knots to the point he was almost nauseous, and throat felt constricted. He could really only stare at his feet, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, as sweat dripped from his nose and fogged his glasses.

 

When something came into contact with his back, Bim gasped and jerked away; eyes wide as saucers.

 

“Bim. Hey.” Jackie’s voice. When had he come in? “Look at me.”

 

Obeying with almost painful slowness, Bim found his glasses snatched away. The now-blurred figure of Jackieboy wiped the perspiration from them with his sleeve, then replaced them on the game show host’s face. Jackie didn’t mention how dilated Bim’s pupils had become, nor bloodshot his eyes were, when their eyes met. He didn’t tell Bim how sickly pale he looked, or drenched his shirt had already become.

 

The superhero just put an arm around Bim, pulling the show host to his chest as one hand ran calming circles over Bim’s back. It had admittedly been a while since his cravings had come up, and it had surprised Jackie when the King was ushering him to Bim’s room as soon as he’d exited his own.

 

Jackie rested his chin on the others head, humming softly.

 

Relief washed over the superhero when Bim’s shivering gradually died down and breaths slowed. It took longer than usual, but he’d eventually fallen asleep. Good.

 

Green eyes flicked up toward the door when it opened. Jackie lifted a finger to his lips as a means of telling his creator, the only one who’d entered, to keep quiet.

 

Seán nodded and approached with quiet steps. “What’s wrong with ‘im?” he whispered. It was almost funny hearing him speak so softly when, a few years ago, he was renowned for his volume.

 

A frown came over Jackie’s face. Did Seán not know..?

 

“He’s got cravings that come up outta nowhere sometimes,” he answered with equal softness.

 

“‘Cravings’?” Seán had raised a brow as he said it.

 

Jackie averted his eyes from his creator’s. “…Yeah.”

 

“For _what?_ Jackie, he’s showing symptoms of addiction withdrawal.” A huff from the Ego was the only answer. “Jackie.”

 

“Cannibalism.” Now-green eyes didn’t dare meet their creator’s blue.

 

“…W-what?”

 

“Cannibalism,” Jackie repeated, “that’s what.”

 

Seán went so pale that the superhero was worried he’d faint right then and there. “And…ya didn’t think we should _know_ that?” His voice cracked.

 

Jackie’s arms tightened around Bim’s sleeping form almost protectively. He still wouldn’t meet his creator’s eyes. “We already knew. Kind’ve assumed you did, too.”

 

A shaky hand combed through fluffy brown hair. Seán pulled in a rattling breath, seemingly unwilling to take his eyes off the Iplier.

 

Something akin to a growl came from Jackie, and the noise alone was enough to force the human to look away. “It’s how he was created,” the hero explained tensely, “he can’t help it. He hasn’t even sated his craving for over a year now, Seán. But we’re not human. No matter what he does, the cravings will come up outta nowhere.

 

“We’re Egos. Doesn’t matter what any of us do. If we were created a certain way, to do a certain thing…” he shook his head with a sigh, “Good luck droppin’ it.” He rested his chin on Bim’s head again, humming softly. His eyes finally found his creator’s pale face, and stayed there.

 

“If…if that’s the case…Dark?”

 

“Will still be a power-hungry douche-bag.”

 

“Wilford?”

 

“Will still be unstable. Probably a killer desiring attention as much as ever.”

 

A shudder passed down the man’s spine at that thought. “The Googles?”

 

“Killer, geeky androids.” The hand that had been moving in slow circles over Bim’s back stopped. “Bim will always crave flesh, and Marvin will always want an audience. I’ll always want to help people, the King to be high in the trees.” Jackie closed his eyes with a sharp exhale. They would never truly be able to fit in among the humans. And Jackie voiced that without a moment’s hesitation. “We’ll never fit in out here. Not really. No matter how hard we try, Jack.” Jackie didn’t both correcting himself to the man’s real name. That, or he hadn’t even caught it.

 

Seán’s gaze fell. What could he say to that?

 

“Don’t say anything.” The man looked up when it seemed Jackieboy had read his mind. “I think, deep down, we’re all aware how hard it’ll be to live out here. This’ll be the hardest thing any of us has ever done.”

 

And oh, how true that would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had. To do so. Much. Fucking. Research. For this chapter. :I  
> Cannibalism, withdrawal symptoms, addictions, what have you, so that I could create believable symptoms for Bim to have.  
> And some of the cannibalism research was disturbing as fuck. This series is lucky I'm so devoted to it. :I
> 
> For those wondering, I have seen a number of fics with Bim depicted as a cannibal; to go along with the fact he so readily served up human-burgers to two of his contestants in his debut video. I liked the idea and, though disturbing, I do find it something really interesting to explore for him, honestly.


	18. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: The Googles (Blue, Red, Green, Oliver)  
> Reminder on human names:  
> -Jasper = Red  
> -Hunter = Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the cabbie wasn't going to try hurting them. I didn't say _anything_ about him being a creep. ;P

****

**November 26** **th** **, 2030, 6:00 PM  
** **Los Angeles, California**

 

Blue’s fingers thrummed the door of the cab impatiently as the cabbie babbled on and on. A quick glance in the mirror showed him Red looked about ready to strangle the man, and only Oliver’s hand remaining on his shoulder stopped the temperamental Google from actually doing anything. Green held his tongue so as not to say anything rude that would get them kicked from the cab, while Oliver humored the old man by being the one to hold up the conversation when it was necessary.

 

But, even he found the cabbie getting on his nerves. They’d realized pretty quickly that the man really should have been fired long ago. He was a creep, and made the Googles’ synthetic skin crawl. The only reason they hadn’t made him pull over so they could get out was because they weren’t sure they’d be able to find another ride, and they still had twenty miles to go. And with Red in his current condition, they didn’t dare attempt walking that far. Getting to their destination was more important than growing discomfort.

 

For most of the ride, such comments from the cabbie were angled toward Blue. He clearly looked older than the supposed ‘triplets’, after all. Unfortunately, with Blue practically ignoring the old man, poor Oliver became the next target by the time they were ten miles from their destination.

 

A particularly inappropriate comment cast Oliver’s way had Red giving a loud, rattling growl from deep in his chest. The old man, apparently not the brightest person, cocked his head and smacked the dashboard a couple times, convinced that was where the sound came from. “Piece’a crap…” he grumbled.

 

The Upgrades all just turned to look at each other. Even Oliver—always the cheerful, friendly one—looked as though he was on his last nerve with the old man; eyes literally bright with flustered embarrassment at that last comment. The Googles weren’t flirted with by even the most stupid Figments back in their plane. And not only was this human a flirt, he was a damn pervert!

 

Sure, they were used to the fans ‘shipping’ them throughout the years to other Egos ( _especially_ Blue). At the same time, the fans were fans; they didn’t even know the Egos were real! This man was just ridiculous…

 

If it wasn’t for their sunglasses hiding the angry, flustered, or otherwise, glowing of their eyes, and the old man’s insistence that his cab needed repairs and not to mind the noises, the Googles would have given themselves away already. They’d already just about done so at the hotel a few times, chirping at each other as they passed through the lobby and leaving the woman at the desk questioning her sanity.

 

How the fuck was Bing so good at appearing human? They were quickly realizing it wasn’t as easy as he’d made it look all those years.

 

Unlike the default, the Googles had never tried to cover the fact they were androids. They were rather proud of the fact! Even Oliver, one of Bing’s best friends, had always had a hard time understanding why the other android was so determined to completely hide the fact he was a machine. Though he did often have a chuckle at how similar Bing and Chase were. Seriously, it was almost as if Mark and Seán had planned for them to be alike when they’d created the two! Still to this day the yellow Google thought they’d deserved just one collab video…

 

“So. Oliver—”

 

The yellow Google was pulled from his thoughts and met the cabbie’s eyes in the mirror, then looked away again with a duck of the head, grateful for his sunglasses. The man started yammering on, and Oliver felt Red tense up next to him; saw him bare his teeth from the corner of his eye.

 

“Speak to him again,” the temperamental android growled, “and I’ll crush your vocal folds.”

 

That caused the old man to shut up immediately for the first time since the start of their trip. He looked pale, and Oliver, for once, didn’t feel bad about it. He cast Red a grateful look, and the other Upgrade nodded back about as well as he could with the neck brace.

 

Fortunately, the rest of their ride went in relative silence. The cabbie wouldn’t even glance at his passengers now, shoulders hunched and hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. It also seemed that he’d started driving a little faster than before.

 

Oliver could see that Blue had his phone in his lap, held in a way to keep the cabbie from reading anything on it if he happened to glance over (even though he’d changed the language settings in it to Mandarin three years ago, and doubted the man next to him could read it). The blue Google appeared to be texting, so Oliver tilted his head a little.

 

Blue shifted in his seat, head turning to look at Oliver. The yellow Google just gave him a quizzical look. Rather than chirping an answer as he usually would if he didn’t want other Egos nosing in, Blue tucked his phone under his thigh to free his hands, signing something. The first sign was a test; simply Blue’s own name, then he paused a moment. The old man looked annoyed, telling Blue he couldn’t understand ASL. Then he signed to Oliver what he actually wanted to communicate.

 

Blue’s movements were stiff and, well… _robotic._ It took Oliver (and Red, since he also had his eyes on their leader, now) a moment to figure out what he was saying. He kept it short, fortunately, which made the choppy signs a little easier to pick up on. Blue had no trouble know how to do the signs, he just…he really wasn’t very good at actually _using_ them, it appeared.

 

‘ _Dark left with Doctor, Will, and Host. They are in Breckenridge.’_

 

Oliver felt his eyebrows raise a little. That was a tourist town in Colorado, wasn’t it? Why the hell where they _there?_

 

‘ _Dark has been made aware of our human names. In public, we are to refer to them as: Damien Fischbach, Edward Iplier, Wilford Williamson, and Arthur Iplier.’_ That time, Blue’s signs required _a lot_ of spelling out of the names. A few of the signs were nearly lost in translation as Blue’s stiff movements made some of them look a little odd, but it eventually got there. It was easy enough to figure out which name belonged to who; especially considered Doc’s name was completely unchanged and Wilford’s first name was the same. Then they already knew ‘Damien’ was a name meaning dark, and Arthur probably had something to do with the similar sound to Host’s former title of Author.

 

Green, unable to see Blue’s hands since he was sitting directly behind the older android, turned to Red, who signed everything Blue had said.

 

After what seemed like far too long, the cabbie was pulling into a Best Buy parking lot.

 

With Green and Oliver aiding their more damaged counterpart, the Upgrades piled out. Blue rolled down his window, then stepped out as well; crossing his arms and leaning in through the now-open window. Veiled eyes found the counter, and Blue did a mental calculation to make sure they weren’t being ripped off for the price. He pulled his wallet, and counted out the exact change, but didn’t hand it over right away.

 

Instead, he just eyed the old man with a disgusted sneer sneaking onto his lips. “I suggest you never speak to my brothers, or myself, ever again.” The Upgrades hovered behind their leader, casting glances at each other. Blue would never admit it aloud, but he was protective of the Upgrades. Violently so, as Anti had painfully discovered some years ago. “If I discover you have,” Blue gave the signature ‘Google smirk’ they all had in common. Undoubtedly, it made the cabbie’s hair stand on end, “I will insure that finding all the pieces to your corpse is unlikely.”

 

With that said, Blue tossed the payment onto the passenger’s seat, turned briskly to the other three, and led the way through the parking lot, to the automatic doors of the Best Buy without so much as a second glance at the taxi. His strides were confident; expression once more emotionless.

 

The Upgrades snickered a little amongst themselves, then quieted (though still smirked cockily) to follow their eldest counterpart in a well-rehearsed formation: Green flanking him, with Red and Oliver falling slightly behind, side-by-side with each other. Their strides were a little slower than usual, however, to allow Red to keep up with them as they made their way across the parking lot, slick with recent rain.

 

“Oliver,” said Blue. The yellow Google perked up and jogged ahead, taking the empty spot next to Green. Green, in turn, fell back to take Oliver’s place next to Red. “You will take Jasper,” he’s shifted into using the human names with ease, “and find the smaller parts you will require to create the needed repairs.” He received a nod from the yellow Google. “I will be taking Hunter for larger parts and tools.”

 

“Got it.”

 

With that said, he and Green swapped paces again. Their sniggering over the damned cabbie was over with. Time to get serious again.


	19. Off the Radar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First group cross-over!  
> Cards at the beginning of cross-over chapters will be for the main Egos of that chapter ONLY
> 
> Long weekend meant I was able to crank out two chapters! <3

****

**November 2** **9** **th** **, 2030, 11:43 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

“James. Stay close.” The mute perked up, then scurried back to Anti’s side. The glitch raised a brow at what the younger Ego was now holding. “What’ve you got there?”

 

Jameson grinned and held up the item. They were shopping for the day’s groceries, and the mute Septic had started digging through a bargain bin near the checkout.

 

Anti shifted the basket of unpurchased items to one arm, then examined Jameson’s find. As he looked it over, his brows furrowed and he struggled for a moment to find his words. “Wh…where did you find this?” He turned it over in his hand, running his thumb over the plush surface, trying to rub the dust off of it.

 

‘ _Bottom of the bin,’_ Jameson signed, pointing to the one in question. He was still smiling, but his eyes drooped a little with sadness. _‘Can we..?’_

 

Anti nodded a little numbly and stuck the item in his basket. What Jameson had found was a little Sam plush; unclaimed in the bottom of the bargain bin for…well, quite some time judging by the dust coating it. It was both a cruel reminder of how forgotten they, themselves were, that Sam was long-faded, but also of better times years ago, now.

 

“Let’s get checked out.” One hand rested on the back of the younger Ego’s neck, and Anti led the way to an open register, putting his basket up on the belt. The cashier was kind of slow, looking slightly panicked and as if he’d only just started the job, but eventually got there. He seemed relieved when Anti paid in cash; he wouldn’t have to mess with a bunch of buttons that way!

 

The pair exited the store, each with a bag in hand. They passed different storefronts and vendors along the way to their hotel, Anti sneering at a few of them and their ridiculous mascots. One food truck in particular had Jameson covering his nose and scurrying ahead a little; he didn’t like the smell of the greasy food in it, that was obvious.

 

The mute jogged ahead of Anti, then turned around to walk backwards so he could face the other. _‘Fast food smells!’_ he signed, frowning. _‘Do humans really eat that stuff?’_

 

A roll of the eyes, but Anti did nod. “Yeah, they do. Would sure make me sick.”

 

Jameson nodded in agreement. _‘Like when Wilford cooks.’_ He was grinning again, giving his silent laugh. _‘I bet the lad will love fast food.’_

 

“No doubt.” Anti moved his bag to the crook of his elbow and held both hands out. He looked at Jameson, signing something. “’Bet’ is this,” he said, demonstrating, “you had your thumbs out.”

 

The mute just blinked a few times, then nodded. He held his own hands back out, copying the correct sign a few times to get it in his head. He’d relied too much on his word-slides over the years, so his sign language still wasn’t the best even after Anti, Oliver, and Bing had worked on teaching him.

 

‘ _Sam?’_ he then signed, pointing at Anti’s bag. The glitch just nodded and dug through it to produce the plush, passing it to Jameson. The mute did his best to brush the dust off of it before gently placing it in his own bag. _‘Do you miss him?’_ he asked.

 

Anti nodded. “M’sure we all do.”

 

The pair dropped off the groceries at their hotel room, storing the perishables in the mini-fridge, the plush placed on the nightstand, and then were gone again as quickly as they’d shown up. Anti was starting to learn just taking Jameson on walks really helped his restlessness. Why he hadn’t figured that out earlier was beyond him; it was really rather obvious.

 

As they walked up and down the business district, Anti had pulled his phone out. Bing’s bizarre number made its way to the screen, and Anti, using careful focus so as not to make the device spazz out, brought it up to his ear. He listened to the rings, then raised a brow as the voice to answer.

 

“ _Anti?”_ it was a male voice, slightly annoyed and clearly exhausted, but the glitch wasn’t sure if it was the android or someone else from his group to have answered. The fact that their voices changed along with appearances after exiting their plane made it impossible to be certain.

 

“Who’s this?” the glitch asked.

 

“ _Bing. You want somethin’?”_

 

“Hello to you, too,” the Septic muttered with a roll of his eyes. Jameson just cocked his head and watched the other. “Yeah, we do. We—”

 

“’ _We’?”_

 

A huff. “Jamseson and I. We were wondering if you could make up some documentation for us.”

 

Anti could have sworn the android groaned. _“Yeah, yeah. Think Amy can pick ya up today? I’ll just have ya write some shit down and try getting ‘em done in a few days.”_

 

Bing sounded like he was on his last nerve, and it confused the glitch. Then again, the androids and Anti didn’t get along very well, so maybe it was just the fact the glitch had called, he figured. What Anti _didn’t_ know was that Bing already had to make up documents for eleven Figments. He’d made up most of the ones for his group, but he still wasn’t completely done with them. And he’d barely started on the ones for Jackie’s group.

 

Anti just agreed, and told the robot where Amy could pick them up at.

 

It was some time later, the woman having been caught in traffic for a while, that the pair was able to approach the familiar white van that had shown up in so many videos, so many years ago. There were still smudges here and there where the Sharpie had never come off the sides, and the corner of a Halloween sticker that had refused to come off after the sticker was torn.

 

Amy, who’d of course been expecting them to look different, was still caught off guard when she’d seen them—by Anti especially.

 

Turned out that Anti’s first assumption of either himself being taller and/or Jameson shorter was incorrect. They were both slightly shorter than before, and it was just that Jameson has lost a little more height than the other. It gave Amy a bit of a laugh when she’d pointed the fact out. She also made sure to mention the freckles dotting Anti’s face and how they made him look more cute than frightening; letting out another laugh when the glitch’s face had turned red with flustered embarrassment.

 

When at last they reached the Fischbach residence, Amy stopped the pair before they could get out of the van. “I’d like to remind you that Chase is here,” she said, eyes shifting from Jameson, to Anti, then the front door of the home she shared with Mark, Chica, and, for the moment, a group of Figments. “Now, we know he hasn’t been talking with any of you, but if you see him while you’re here, _please_ don’t push him. Mark and I are pretty sure he feels guilty for leaving so suddenly, and is refusing to contact you guys because he’s upset with himself. Not any of you. All right?”

 

The Septics both nodded, brows furrowed in matching expressions of concern, before they climbed out of the van. They waited for Amy to lead the way, following close behind as they made their way up the driveway.

 

“Where’s Mark?” Anti asked.

 

“The Twins have an interview coming up,” she explained, “so he’s helping them prepare for it.”

 

The glitch blinked. The Twins had _jobs_ already? Or, were close to getting them, at least.

 

“Bing is this way,” Amy continued as she opened the door and started for the hall with the android’s makeshift office. They were, however, unable to get any farther than the living room before two teens and a tween stopped them.

 

Anti felt his jaw drop a little. “Kyler? Sophia?” Disbelief laced his voice. They were older!

 

“ _Yan!”_ Jameson’s speech-slide appeared over his head, startling Chica into barking at him when she’d come to investigate the two new strangers. _“You’re but a child, lad!”_

 

The Ego in question just shrugged a little, messing with the fabric of his skirt. He was grinning, though, much like the Brody kids.

 

Sophie cocked her head, brows furrowed. “Why’re you here?”

 

Anti opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut when a door slammed. Down the hall, Bing was now standing in front of his ‘office’, staring at the door as if it had wronged him, mouth open with the words that wouldn’t come. The android let out a sigh, ran his fingers through his hair, then moved into the living room. He had some paper in his hands, and waved the two Septics into the kitchen without a word.

 

“ _What was that about?”_ Jameson asked. He was frowning; had that been Chase?

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Bing’s tone was clipped and the mute seemed taken aback by it. The android’s shoulders sagged and eyes glowed dimly, jaw locked and fingers crumpling the edges of the papers. Back home, he would have looked like Red at first glance. Jameson wasn’t sure he liked that; Red was such an ass, and he didn’t want to compare Bing to that Google.

 

“ _Lad… You’re overworkin’ yourself.”_

 

Anti glanced between the two, but wisely kept quiet. He and Bing didn’t like each other as it was; best to let Jameson do the talking. …Er…typing? Signing? With literal floating signs?

 

The android just sat at the table, gesturing to two of the open seats across from him. “I’ll rest when my work’s done.” Once more, his speech was clipped. The pair almost thought he had his emotions turned off.

 

“Look,” Bing said, rubbing at his eyes, then his temples as if it was possible for him to get a headache, “I’m sorry. I’m runnin’ on fumes right now, and documents for what’s now thirteen people is a lot of goddamn work for me alone. I really don’t mean to be snippy with ya, dude.”

 

“ _Why don’t you get help from the Googles?”_

 

Bing snorted and turned away. “I don’t even know if they’ve left our plane yet, man.”

 

“They left two hours before us,” said Anti, brows furrowed. Did that mean Oliver hadn’t contacted Bing? Then again, Green and Red had been in pretty rough shape when the four left; maybe he just hadn’t had time to do so.

 

The android just shrugged. “Then if they don’t want to be found, they’re off the radar. I could track anyone’s cells _but_ theirs. I—”

 

“Wait, wait.” Anti had perked up, face lighting up. “You can track our phones?”

 

“Um. Yeah?”

 

The Septics exchanged a look. “Could you track Schneep’s?”

 

“ _But his is turned off.”_ Jameson gave Bing a look. Surely he couldn’t track the phone if it was off, right? That’s not how they worked.

 

“Doesn’t matter. All our phones have trackers in them; a little one that’s active at all times and can’t really be removed once placed. Blue created it back when he was the only ‘droid. Ya know, as a means to find the other if they got hurt or whatever. A failsafe if their cell happened to be dead or off. The Googs and I are the only ones who know how to deactivate the trackers.” He gave Anti a look. “Yours tends to flip out, though; your glitching’s pretty hard on it. You’re still relatively easy to track, though.”

 

A roll of the eyes. “That’s not stalker-y.” Jameson gave a silent laugh in response to the glitch’s words. “Well? Going to track him or not?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man. Just let me get my laptop.”

 

When the android had returned, he set the rather high-tech-looking device up on the table and connected three cables to it. Jameson winced when Bing connected one of the other ends to back of his neck, and two others in the top of his left forearm. He went straight to work, the Septics now hovering over his shoulder.

 

At one point he growled and swatted at Anti, glaring back at him. “Either back the fuck off or focus on _not_ crashing my CPU, man!” He grabbed the papers he’d brought earlier, passing them and some pens to Jameson. “Actually, James… Take him over there, all right? Fill these out so I can work on your documentation when I’ve got time. I can’t fuckin’ focus with him jumbling my code.”

 

The mute just nodded and took the papers in one hand and Anti’s arm in the other, dragging the oldest Septic over to the counter. They got to work filling out the papers; they turned out to be questionnaires asking their full (human) names, birth-dates, and otherwise that Bing would need to forge documents for them. They were understandably distracted as they filled out the forms, constantly glancing in the android’s direction.

 

There was the occasional shout or laugh from the living room that also succeeding in drawing curious eyes. It sounded like Mark and the Twins were done prepping for the interview as they played with Chica and the kids.

 

“Hey. I’ve got pinpoints.”

 

The two abandoned their ‘paperwork’ to return to Bing’s side (Anti was careful not to glitch Bing or his laptop this time). They both furrowed their brows. On the screen was a map of the world, and scattered about it were multiple little dots. Four in Brighton, Four in Colorado, and the rest in California. Bing was zooming in on the ones grouped in California—all of them in LA—and hovering over them to see whose name would pop up. It was clear enough that the biggest grouping was all the Figments at the Fischbachs’, but there were still some others throughout LA. Three dots in particular had the Septics’ attention: Those being, three that were off on their own, not near any of the grouped Egos.

 

Bing hovered over one of them, and it turned out to be Ed’s. He muttered something about the cowboy being an idiot, then moved to the next.

 

“ _There’s Schneep’s!”_ Jameson’s sign read before vanishing again.

 

The android clicked on the dot, and it brought up some information. “Shit…” he growled. “Schneep’s cell is _broken_. No wonder you can’t get a hold of him.”

 

“How the fuck you tracking it if his phone’s broken?”

 

Bing looked about ready to bang his head on the table. “However he broke it, the tracker managed to stay in one piece, dude. Pretty obvious.”

 

“Whatever! Where the fuck is he?”

 

“Dude. His cell hasn’t moved in _days_. He probably tossed it in the trash on some street corner and moved on.”

 

“So much for your goddamn failsafe,” Anti growled, pounding his fist on the table. The resulting thud drew the attention of the living room occupants, but the glitch ignored them.

 

A shake of the head from the android. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, tired defeat clear as day on his face.

 

Jameson looked about ready to start crying. That had quite possibly been their only chance at finding Schneeplestein. And now, he was as far off the radar as the Googles.

 

He wouldn’t be found unless he _wanted_ to be found…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sam plush will make plenty more appearances because James misses him <3
> 
> This chapter turned out quite a bit longer than I expected :I


	20. Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group: Jacques, Silver + his girlfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty uneventful chapter, but necessary for plot purposes.

**November 29** **th** **, 2030, 10:20 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Jacques was eyeing the couple as they bickered over money _again;_ his irritation growing when the lamp next to him began flickering. He hated that goddamn…what did Silver call it? ‘Blackout’? Well whatever, Jacques hated that ability of the hero’s. There had already been two incidents since they started staying at the motel that Silver had shut all the lights off without warning the other two. As a result, Roxanne had tripped on her way to the bathroom and now had a badly bruised knee, and Jacques had torn a hole in his paper.

 

“If you do not stop turning the fucking lights off,” Jacques growled, “you will sleep outside!”

 

Not that he could actually pull through with the threat. Silver was _far_ stronger than Jacques; the artist doubted he could even make the other lose his balance. Still, it would have been tempting if the Septic _could_ actually pull through with it…

 

Fortunately, the superhero shut his mouth and Jacques’s lamp brightened to full intensity.

 

“Good. Now stop being dumbasses.”

 

The ensuing silence didn’t last long. Soft chatter from the couple rapidly turned into obnoxious laughter and senseless jokes.

 

That’s it, Jacques thought. He threw his notebook down on the nightstand as hard as he could, causing the other two to jump. Letting out a calming breath, he stood up and did his best not to glare at the other two. “I am going for a walk,” he stated as he slipped his shoes on. When Roxanne opened her mouth, the look the Septic cast her made her deflate and step slightly behind Silver. Jacques just rolled his eyes. “I need time alone. Please.I will be back before supper. _Je promets._ ”

 

“But…you should be resting!” Silver argued. His hands were wringing together and a look of uneasiness was clear as day on his face.

 

“One: I am not human. And as much of a fucking ‘lesser Ego’ I am, a concussion will not kill me!” Silver recoiled as the others voice raised. Since Jacques’s verbal beating a few days ago, he seemed far more confident with his words and honestly just a jackass when he spoke to the pair. He made it pretty obvious that they were getting on his nerves. “Two: I am going for a _walk_. _A walk_ , Shepherd! Even Doc would say I need to get out a little, so I. Am going. Out.”

 

The superhero sighed but relented. He grabbed his wallet from the TV stand and pulled out his room key, passing it to the artist. “If you’re not back by six, we’re coming to look for you.”

 

“Fine, fine! Goodbye!”

 

Jacques snatched his own wallet off the night stand, stuck the key in it, grabbed his phone, and was off before the Iplier could change his mind. The artist muttered to himself in French and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, notebook tucked under his arm, after shutting the door behind him. Finally. He could get away from those two for a while.

 

With a relieved sigh, he set off. He could go find a coffee shop or something and just hang out there for the day, he thought with a little nod to himself. Sounded like a plan.

 

Gaze flicking about as he walked, Jacques took in the sight of downtown Los Angeles. He took note of the storefronts, the humans, the vendors. Discomfort crept up his spine as he ducked through a crowd gathered outside a clothing store, slight panic when he had to figure out how crosswalks were supposed to be used. Needless to say, the Septic did a lot of scurrying until he’d learned how they worked.

 

By the time he stopped, he was entering an Internet cafe with some hesitance. He’d never gone in a place like that. He didn’t know what to do! Well, he _did_ , but it was more anxiety at going somewhere unfamiliar with strangers than anything.

 

Hands wringing together, he glanced about the place as he approached the register. Eyes shifting to the menu posted on the wall, he looked over everything.

 

The man behind the counter glanced over his shoulder, both hands full with the coffee he was making. “Be with you in a moment.” The only response Jacques gave the barista was a little nod.

 

The cafe was small, scattered about being simple but sturdy wood tables and chairs to match. Close to half of the spots had computers available for the patrons, and there were about a dozen other people inside. Behind the counter was a swinging door into the kitchen, with coffee machines at the counter itself.

 

Putting the coffee he’d been making on the counter, the barista called out a number. An elderly man shambled over, collected his drink, and then returned to his table where he seemed to be chatting with some buddies.

 

“All right,” the barista’s full attention turned to Jacques. He had an order pad and pen out. “What can I do ya for?”

 

“Oh. Ah.” Jacques took another look at the menu. “Twelve ounce black coffee. And a… ‘Flexpass’? Please.”

 

“Flexpass is six hours for a computer. That the one you want?” The Ego nodded. “Got ya.” The barista—Jacques read the name ‘Iffy’ on his nametag—turned to the register and punched some things in. He rattled off what the Septic owed, so Jacques paid in cash, and then was handed a ticket. “Come on up when I call your number. Pass expires at four-forty.”

 

“ _Merci.”_

 

Jacques retreated to a quiet corner of the cafe and seated himself at the computer. He pulled up a web-page: the Google logo greeted him, he noted with a little quirk of the lips. The Googles scared him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find it amusing; a reminder of back home. When his number was called, he got his coffee and was right back at the computer. He’d pulled up a map of LA and was making mental notes; where the motel was, the cafe he was currently at, places he may stop at once he left the cafe that evening.

 

Then it was on to the more serious things. He started researching legal documents; what they looked like, how they were formatted, what were absolutely necessary in the United States. Where some would have become bored out of their mind in a short time, Jacques ready every single word. Looked at every picture thrice over. He even took out his notebook and started sketching out the basics for them.

 

After that, he moved onto searching jobs. If Silver and Roxanne were going to sit on their asses ‘babysitting’ Jacques, then the Septic would take it into his own hands.

 

His fingers thrummed the table and he took a sip of his coffee. That was his second mug of it by that point, and it too was almost gone. There was also a half-eaten sandwich next to the keyboard that he seemed to have forgotten about. Occasionally he’d lean back in his seat, looking out the window to let his eyes relax. Sometimes he’d glance around the cafe, taking in the faces around him.

 

The occasional new patron to enter would catch his attention; some more interesting than others. A security guard, the Septic assumed by his attire, was one such to catch his attention. The man was not only tall, but looked like he could beat the shit out of someone: Burly and big-handed. Jacques caught himself flinching when the man brushed past him on his way to the register and went on to strike up conversation with the barista.

 

With a shake of the head, Jacques sat back up to look out the window. He barely concealed a smirk as a woman in a rather… _peculiar_ dress passed by. He almost laughed when an elderly couple on the other side of the cafe started arguing, voices raised because neither one could hear the other.

 

Despite it all, Jacques was quickly discovering he preferred the company of humans over Egos. Admittedly, he had…never exactly liked being around the other Egos. He’d never gotten along with them very well; didn’t enjoy being around them. But, as he’d told the Host, that didn’t mean he’d wanted to see them fade.

 

Back home, he’d done the only thing he could think of to keep them, and himself, from fading for as long as possible. The problem with it was it broke the biggest rule their creators had given them…

 

An art Account, a profile and fake name, as much art of the fading Egos as he could create. Just to get them a few moments’ attention to keep them alive as long as possible.

 

And it broke the biggest rule. Jacques shook his head a little. Only Host knew, due to his Sight. But Jacques own ability kept the blind Ego quiet about it; no matter how hard he would have tried to say something. It was six years ago that he started doing it in an attempt to help the Googles’ efforts to keep them alive.

 

But…he’d done it since the very beginning of his own creation; when the fans refused to see him as a legitimate Ego.

 

For so many years now, Jacques had already been interacting with humans. What would his creator have said if he found out?

 

“Fuck Seán,” he murumured softly to himself. The Septic felt as though his creator had failed him— _them—_ for the last fucking time. He’d never felt more distant from the man.

 

Glancing up toward the door as the bell above it rang, Jacques took in the sight of the next man to enter in an attempt to pull his mind away from harsher thoughts. However, at sight of the man, his head tilted and eyes widened. Even if he looked different, Jacques would recognize that mustache and hat anywhere. That was no man!

 

“Ed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't guessed already, Jacques's phone was the third one that was out on its own in the last chapter. Bing just hadn't hovered over his, so the name didn't show up; now you know if you were curious!


	21. Text Ya Soon, Kiddo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love-hate relationship with Ed  
> aaggh D:

**November 29** **th** **, 2030, 4:12 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

The cowboy had his hands stuffed in his pockets, lip curled with a distasteful sneer: Annoyance. With a hint of something else.

 

Humans were loud. Obnoxious. Acted long before thinking. Even worse than the Egos’ creators, that was for sure.

 

Ed’s thumb stroked the cash in his pocket, cocky triumph easing its way into his shielded eyes, making the sneer on his lips look so much harsher, colder. It was so easy to swindle that manager it was almost embarrassing. Just a peek over his sunglasses so their eyes met, some confident words, and his ability did the rest to make the man oh so easy to persuade. The man shook out of his daze some time later with a low-quality jacket he had absolutely no use for and his wallet short a hundred bucks. That hundred would now service the cowboy for a while until he decided to trick another hapless soul into buying something completely useless off of him.

 

“You’ve still got it, Edgar,” he chuckled.

 

It had been _years_ since he’d made a deal with anyone. He’d almost forgotten how easy it was. How satisfying it could be—even if the high lasted for only a short time.

 

It wasn’t long before his expression went unreadable. The weeks had been long. Ed had struggled to find places to stay the first night or two.

 

He’d also gotten a nice sock to the face when attempting to swindle a barkeep the other day. One hand drew from its hiding place to rub at the sore, dark bruise on his chin that had been the result. It was a reminder that his ability to persuade didn’t _always_ work as he wanted it to; at least not on those with intelligence that could rival with Ed’s own. And that woman behind the bar had one _nasty_ right hook… He could have sworn he’d seen stars.

 

The old Ego had high-tailed it out of there after recovering from the blow. Stupid humans…

 

After that, he was a little more careful of who he targeted. Like that manager whose IQ could have competed with Silver’s. Goddamn idiot…

 

Adjusting his hat and smoothing out his mustache, Ed stopped at a crosswalk. He leaned against the light, waiting for the one across the street to tell him to walk, boot tapping with impatience. He’d just missed it and would be forced to wait it out.

 

His thoughts drifted. To the business he’d abandoned many years ago. To their creators. To the other Egos. He couldn’t care less if one of them wound up dead by their own stupidity, but that didn’t mean the redneck couldn’t be curious. He was glad he’d left on his own, glad he’d kept his phone off. Made it a little harder to tell time, but certainly worth it if Silver, that fucking fusspot, couldn’t get a hold of the cowboy.

 

Ed thought of the city, just how big it was. Tried to think of the chances he’d run into the others.

 

There were so many possibilities. So many places he could go to change those chances to be greater or lesser in happening. It had him taking each step curiously, deep brown eyes darting about for a familiar gait or speech pattern or attire.

 

At one point just the other day he could have sworn he’d heard someone cussing in German. He still wasn’t positive whether or not it had been Schneeplestein, unfortunately. The man had chucked something in a trash bin, still swearing, and stormed off before the cowboy could get across the street to get a better look.

 

Just a few hours ago today, his phone had also turned on and started flipping out for a short while as a pair of men clutching grocery bags shuffled past him. Neither party had realized they’d passed another Ego. Ed still hadn’t connected the dots that one of them had been the glitch and the other the mute, while the pair hadn’t even so much as glanced his way—leaving all three completely oblivious.

 

Whether he realized it or not, the chances of running into other Egos in Los Angeles were greater than he thought, as he’d already seen three during his time Outside. It was almost as if they were drawn to each other, and the concentration of them in the city really didn’t help.

 

As it would turn out, another was very nearby, but neither realized.

 

When the ‘walk’ sign lit up, the cowboy pushed himself away from the pole and wandered across the street. His stomach growled, bringing with it a pang of irritation. With a sigh and shake of the head, however, Ed relented and went into the next place to serve food he passed.

 

It turned out to be an Internet cafe. Somewhat busy, he noted with lip curling in distaste.

 

“Ed?”

 

The old Ego jumped and spun toward the voice. He took in the sight of a scraggly young man, bags under his eyes with long and crooked fingers that hadn’t moved from their keyboard. His unkempt hair was black and tipped with…faded green? Blonde? It was so greasy that it clumped and made it hard to tell. If it was an Ego, he didn’t have any defining characteristics Ed could pick out. Unless Host’s single streak of blonde had changed location and he’d magically gotten his eyes back, Ed couldn’t be positive who this one was.

 

“Who?” he demanded. Ed’s hands curled into fists against his knowledge.

 

The man recoiled a little, ducking his head. “J-Jacques,” he answered with a small voice.

 

A cop—no, no, a security guard—chatting with the barista turned to eye the cowboy, gaze finding tightly fisted hands. Ed relaxed them, feigning a sheepish look with head ducked to make the big man relax, and approached Jacques’s side.

 

“Sorry, kiddo.” It was too easy to fake a smile. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

 

“I…could say the same.” The Septic removed his hands from the keyboard, and Ed raised a brow as his fingers crackled as he curled them. It was as if Jacques had been typing for hours without allowing his hands rest.

 

“The docs’ll scold ya for that.”

 

“Who cares?” The cowboy was taken aback by the artist’s tone. Jacques seemed to notice and turned his gaze away. “ _Pardon…_ ”

 

“Pardon what?”

 

Jacques rolled his eyes now with a little huff. “It means ‘sorry.’ It seems obvious, no? And has similar meaning either for both French and English! _Stupide._ ”

 

“Shut up, kid!”

 

When he’d realized both of them had raised their voices, Ed winced and glanced about the cafe. His eyes met the barista’s, and a chill traveled down his spine before he could tear his gaze away. The man behind the counter was on edge, one hand grasping the security guard’s sleeve.

 

The big man’s voice growled out, “Is there a problem?” He pried the barista’s hand from his sleeve and approached.

 

Jacques flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. The man reminded him of some of the bad-tempered Ipliers, and he fully expected someone to receive a sharp blow of the fist, stab, or gunshot. It didn’t help that he towered over them both. Ed, on the other hand, just held his hands up and slipped off his sunglasses so he could meet the man eye-to-eye. “No, sir,” he said in a well-trained manner. “S’been a while since I’ve seen my friend here—he startled me a bit is all an’ we got excited. Ain’t meanin’ no harm.”

 

Now or never, he thought. Ed blinked, and fixed the man with a different sort of look: Eyes seeming a somewhat more vivid brown, almost gold, with eyebrows lowered. His Persuasion was in full affect. He could only hope the man wasn’t overly bright.

 

“Y’see, I don’t take well to bein’ startled; my friend didn’t mean to, though. And your scarin’ ‘im worse than I ever could. He ain’t big on big fellas like yourself actin’ all threatenin’.” Any attempts from Jacques or the guard to speak were silenced by Ed’s primary ability: As long as he was speaking, those within earshot couldn’t make a sound. When paired with his Persuasion, it could have a powerful effect. Back home, his business had done extremely well because of them.

 

He continued, “Like I said Mr., ah…” he eyed the man’s name badge, “Garring, I ain’t meanin’ no harm. Just a little excitable’s all.”

 

Ed couldn’t help but grin when the security guard appeared to enter a daze, staring the cowboy dead in the eye. “Jacques,” he glanced to the artist, “what’d’ya say we high-tail it on outta here?”

 

“Um… Sure?”

 

Pulling the artist up to his feet, the pair walked to the door. Ed turned and tipped his hat to the guard, releasing him from his daze, and left the building while the man was still recovering.

 

Once they were safely outside, the Iplier reached out to grab Jacques by the arm and make the artist turn around.

 

“We were not doing anything wrong!” Jacques complained with a scowl. Ed felt a prick of annoyance. His time Outside had made the Septic a little more confident, it seemed; less docile than he’d been for years. “You did not have to Persuade him.”

 

“Better safe than sorry, kiddo.” The cowboy put his thumbs in his pockets and shifted to one foot, leaning comfortably against the brick side of the building. “That barista gave me the creeps…”

 

“I thought he was nice.” Jacques shifted his notebook from one hand under the opposite arm. He’d managed to snatch it and his wallet up before being dragged out of the cafe, fortunately.

 

Ed glanced back toward the swinging door with a shake of his head. “Dunno, kid. Somethin’ ‘bout his eyes.”

 

“He is _human_ , Ed. You are just not used to them looking at you funny. Because that was a very funny look he gave you!”

 

“I thought ya’ll hated humans?”

 

The artist shook his head, eyes wide as if in surprise. “Oh, no, no! I am… _bitter_ , with the fans, yes, but humans make better company than Silver and Roxanne by far! And I have yet to meet a former fan, Ed. Have you seen any with Markiplier shirts wandering about? I am sure not!” A little shrug, and Jacques wouldn’t meet the Iplier’s eyes. “They no longer have active followers. We will never have fans again, no?”

 

Ed huffed a laugh. The kid was right.

 

When he fixed his near-gold gaze on Jacques, he was met by narrowed eyes and a set jaw. “Do not attempt that shit on me, Ed. I am smarter than you, no? It will not work.”

 

Another pang of annoyance. Ed covered it with a laugh and toothy grin. Jacques was not as impressed.

 

“Now that you have ruined my evening, what do you want?” the artist demanded.

 

The cowboy put up his hands. “I didn’t intend to run into ya, kid. I ain’t wanting nothin’ from ya.” He flashed a smile of pearly whites.

 

“Drop the act, Edgar,” Jacques growled. Now _that_ startled the cowboy. Jacques certainly had changed, and Ed didn’t like it. He wasn’t the weak little lesser Ego who ducked his head and did as he was told. “You are a fucking sociopath. You cannot _be_ happy. You cannot _be_ concerned, or caring, or attached. You are fake. A fraud. Any—”

 

Jacques whimpered as a strong hand grabbed his jaw, successfully silencing him. “Watch your tone with me, _boy_.” The Septic flinched at Ed’s own, whispered, tone, eyes shut and form appearing to shrink in on itself. “I’ve only ever been kind to ya since we met. Ya’ll best remember that.” The artist felt hot breath on his face, and tried to turn away despite the stronger Ego holding his head place. Ed’s body and a sign on the other side of Jacque blocked the smaller Ego from passing crowds; simply making them appear like a couple who really needed to get a room and hiding the truth from prying eyes.

 

“Now,” the Iplier drawled, teeth bared in a cruel grin. This one was clearly fake. “Ya’ll are right. I do fake it. An’ real damn well, eh?” His fingers tightened painfully until the Septic whimpered and gave a tiny nod. “So ya’ll best be grateful I act kind to ya. ‘Cause if ya dropped dead at my feet right now, I wouldn’t give a fuck, kiddo.” Ed’s hand twitched slightly to the side to emphasize his words. Tears slipped from the artist’s eyes at the unspoken threat of a snapped neck. “Ya’ll understand?”

 

“L-loud and clear.”

 

Ed had never threatened the artist. Then again…he’d never had reason, had he? Jacques used to just shrug or lower his head and do as ordered by the other Egos. He’d gotten mouthy since coming Outside; Silver and Roxanne succeeding in _really_ getting on his nerves and making him too confident with his words.

 

“Good.” He released the other, so Jacques took in a shaky breath, eyes cracking open. “Now, I’ve always been nice to ya when the others forgot ya’ll existed, eh?” Jacques nodded slowly. The words stung, but were true. He’d always been distant from the other Egos, had grown to dislike his creator and the fans. Even if he knew Ed’s emotions were false, at least he’d been there pretending to care. “Remember that, kiddo. ‘Cause if ya mouth off to me again, ya’ll ain’t gonna see that ever again.” The Septic flinched, but gave another nod. It was all he could do with Ed’s stream of words keeping him quiet.

 

The cowboy grinned and patted him on the cheek. Jacques wanted to reel from the contact, but wisely chose not to. “How ‘bout ya return to your sad little hero, eh, kid? An’ I suggest keepin’ quiet ‘bout our little talk.”

 

Ed stepped back. Jacques hadn’t realized until then that he’d been cornered between the cowboy and a sign. The artist only nodded again, scrubbing the tears from his face with the heels on his palms. He turned to scurry back to the motel, but felt his stomach drop when the Iplier grabbed his wrist.

 

“I’ll text ya soon, kiddo.” That hand tightened painfully. Jacques was sure his wrist would bruise. “I expect an answer.”

 

With that, the artist was released. He took off, sprinting down the sidewalk and skidding around the corner to get Ed’s cold stare off the back of his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacques is my baby, so that hurt to write ;;  
> Yes, I headcanon Ed as a sociopath. But it seems so fitting considering he's so willing to sell children! D:


	22. Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will begin adding chapter warnings just in case~  
> Chapter Warnings: Language, nervous breakdown, self-doubt

**December 2** **nd** **, 2030, 5:21 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Schneeplestein groaned and flung an arm over his face to block out the light filtering into the alley. He’d slept terribly. Still unable to find an affordable place with vacancy, he’d crashed as soon as he found a spot out of view of the street. His sleep had been fretful, and he’d been woken multiple times by blaring horns and the scraping of brick on the back of his head and damp clothes chilling him to the core.

 

His joints were aching; neck and back painfully stiff as he dragged himself to his feet.

 

A large, ragged cat leaped to its paws from its place next to a dumpster with the doctor’s sudden movement. It fluffed up, hissed, and bolted off down the alley. It caused Schneep to jump and breath to catch in his throat. One hand had pulled his scalpel from its pocket, while the other clutched his chest with the start.

 

The German blinked slowly as he watched the feline’s blurry shape disappear from view. He stood stock still, watching where he’d last seen it with form tense.

 

“ _Mein Gott,_ Schneeple,” he finally growled, shoving the scalpel back in his pocket and instead removing his glasses to slip them on. “Paranoid fuck…”

 

Fingers combing through tangled hair, Schneep felt bile rise in his throat. It was disgustingly greasy while his face and hands were smudged with grime. Had it been a week? Two? The first days had blurred together, and it really didn’t help that he didn’t remember what day he’d left the Egos’ plane. Schneep looked over his hands, a deep frown etching into his features. He had always been careful to keep himself clean. He was a doctor, after all!

 

It was…extremely difficult without access to a shower. He’d been scrubbing his hands and face clean in restrooms, but it didn’t add up to much when the water only got so hot and a line formed behind him to rush the Septic.

 

Schneeplestein pulled his hood up and low over his forehead to hide greasy locks, then stuffed his hands in the pockets. He didn’t like the material. It was itchy and uncomfortable unlike the scrubs and lab coat he had dozens of variations of back home. It didn’t help that it had become damp in the night with a light drizzle that had awoken the doctor for the umpteenth time right around midnight. It was rainy season in Los Angeles, after all. Schneep shook his head with a growl as he thought of it. He was going to wind up falling ill if he couldn’t find a place to stay soon. And what help could he be if he was sick or, worse, dead?

 

Then again, what help could he be if he was the only Ego for possible miles? The Septic hunched his shoulders.

 

The longer he was alone, the more negative thoughts came to the forefront of his mind.

 

The longer he was alone, the more anxiety bubbled up in his veins.

 

He could Feel that Chase was in and out of a depressive episode, that Marvin hadn’t been sleeping adequately. All that knowledge did was worsen Schneep’s anxiety. He knew about it, but couldn’t do anything to help either of them. Marvin was in another country across the goddamn ocean, Chase hadn’t been in contact with anyone since he’d left, and the doctor’s fucking phone was in pieces. He didn’t even know where Mark lived and if Chase was still even there! Schneep was so out of the loop with everyone that he didn’t even know where they were anymore.

 

Even as he stiffly exited the alleyway to see early risers on jogs or walking dogs or just enjoying the morning, cars already shooting through the streets in a rush to make it to work on time, he felt so alone. Isolated. Out of place.

 

All around were humans. Maybe some of them were even former fans.

 

That thought just made his breath stutter. He took a deep, steadying inhale.

 

The fans.

 

The fans…

 

The _fucking_ fans.

 

It always went full-circle right back to _them._

 

They were why the Egos had existed in the first place. They were why Ego Central and Egos Incorporated and Sam and Tim came to life. They _gave_ the Egos life. Every view, every time they brought up one of them even just in conversation, the Egos were given more time to live.

 

It was the fans who’d forgotten them. The _fans_ who let the buildings and Mascots fade!

 

Schneeplestein ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t let the tears come.

 

People moved on. Many grew out of the things they once loved. And really: Weren’t humans known for their short attention spans?

 

As Mark and Seán grew older, the fans had become more distant. New YouTube stars arose to snatch away the attention. The ‘kings’ were pushed to the wayside; Markiplier and Jacksepticeye and PewDiePie, and so many others pushed aside to bereplaced by a younger generation. A generation of YouTubers without graying hairs. YouTubers who could bring something new to the table.

 

As the term goes, the Egos’ creators had “gotten out while the getting was good.” They’d moved on from YouTube, found part-time jobs to keep themselves busy even if they really didn’t need to work and could have retired right then and there. They’d gotten out before the fans could grow completely tired of them and leave them to rot.

 

Schneep shook his head, breath once more stuttering. The Egos had felt the brunt of it as their creators were replaced in the eyes of the fans by newer, younger, Internet personalities.

 

It had hit the doctors, who could Feel the health of their fellow Septics or Ipliers, pretty hard. Even if they didn’t let on. Depression, weakening bodies, insomnia; they Felt it all from the others. The less and less they could do to help the others, the more anxious the doctors became. The stronger those feelings became, the more irritated the doctors and the less others wanted to be around them.

 

As he thought of it, Schneep was pretty sure that was part of why he and Edward had finally had enough of each other. Or…no, no, it was the arguing, wasn’t it? No…it was because Schneep and Jacques (the two had never really been close or gotten along) were the only Septics left when things got tense.

 

The doctor lowered his head in shame. It was _his_ fault. It was because of _him_ that Edward had pushed Schneep away. _His_ fault he and Edward would probably never be friends again, if they even _saw_ each other again. All because Schneeplestein couldn’t push down that feeling of abandonment that was growing ever-stronger.

 

That’s exactly what it was, wasn’t it?

 

“ _Es ist meine Schuld. Es ist meine Schuld…_ I-is… _my_ fault…” His breathing became labored with the realization, with the fighting of a sob that tried so hard to surface. There was a growing ache in his chest he couldn’t push away. _“Mein Gott…”_ Grime-streaked hands pulled from their pockets, palms to his forehead, eyes on his feet. _“Mein Gott… Es ist meine Schuld…”_ he repeated. Harsh breaths hissed through clenched teeth. His feet had stopped moving. Schneeplestein was cemented to the spot.

 

Schneep was shaking, yet not from his damp clothes. His fingers caught in tangled hair; pinching, pulling. “Oh God. _Mein Gott!_ _M-mein Freund…”_

 

Edward. His friend. Mentor when Schneep was still so young, partner and equal so soon thereafter. His _best friend._

 

How could he… How could he mess up so badly? How could he ruin that friendship?

 

Edward probably hated him now. …Oh, God. Oh, _God_. How could he _not_ hate Schneep?

 

“ _Mein Freund…_ I—” Schneeplestein shook his head. When the tears spilled, he pulled his hands down, heels of his palms against his eyes. He didn’t care that his glasses were dangerously close to falling off his nose. He didn’t care that it _hurt_ as the rough, dirty skin dug against his eyes. He didn’t care that early risers were giving him scathing looks, cruel sneers, as they skirted past on the wide sidewalk.

 

He couldn’t get the words out. But they were strangling him. They wanted to kill him! They _would_ kill him!

 

Schneep tried to say it again. And again. And again. Each time, a sob choked him. Each time, he struggled to breathe. Edward hated him. His best friend _hated him._ He’d fucked up so badly… There was no way Edward could forgive him.

 

He wanted to apologize. Apologize, to Edward, and Seán, and Jackie, and Anti, everyone.

 

At the same time, he wanted to break down and cry and curse and throw something.

 

It was _his_ fault. _Schneep_ was the one who fucked up. He’d made Edward hate him. Refused to go with Anti or Jackie. Refused to talk to his creator. He’d broken his goddamn phone after _refusing_ to talk to anyone with more than a few _‘I’m fine’_ messages.

 

Would anyone want to see him after all that? Scratch that. _Why_ would anyone?

 

It was _Schneep_ who had pushed everyone away. And it was no one’s fault but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should be obvious, but just in case:  
> -Mein Gott = My God  
> -Mein Freund = My friend  
> -Es ist meine Schuld = It's my fault
> 
> This, my dudes, is Schneep finally having a mental breakdown because come on--we all saw it coming eventually! Didn't make it hurt any less to write- ;;


	23. Fashion (Or Lack Thereof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Dark's Death Glare™, language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a slow-paced chapter to help break up all the serious stuff as of late. <3

**December 2** **nd** **, 2030, 12:09 PM**

**Breckenridge, Colorado**

 

Feet crunching over the snow, the group of four, led by Dark, trudged past the Breckenridge storefronts after the long trek from their hotel. Each Ego had their hands buried in their pockets or snug against their chests, heads low against the cold. Their faces had long turned red; snow from the day-long flurry clung to the hair of those with it long enough to hang in their faces: Wilford and Dark. The warmth of their breath melted it about as soon as it touched, turning the tips stiff with frost. Willford’s mustache was also coated in the stuff.

 

Dr. Iplier was shivering almost violently, teeth chattering audibly as he hugged his thin lab coat around himself. He’d already stumbled multiple times as the cold burned his legs and turned his feet numb, and only the quick hands of Wilford or Dark had kept him upright. As the demonic Ego glanced back, he noticed purple creeping its way across the doctor’s nose. Not good.

 

The Host’s head was low, teeth bared slightly and hood pulled as far over his face as it would go. Judging by how little fresh blood there was on his bandages and face, it seemed even his eye sockets were frozen. In other words, the doctor would have fun deep-cleaning them with all the caked blood they were likely filling with. What did run down his cheeks wound up drying partially, freezing, and cracking the dried-out flesh. He was narrating in order to keep up with the rest, but his breath kept hitching, words stuttering, as if he were in pain.

 

Neither would be able to continue for much farther. It was fortunate they’d even made it to the tourist shops. The temperature had been dropping to far below Breckenridge’s average for that time of year, and the Egos were definitely being hit pretty hard by the low temperatures. Unfortunately, winter hadn’t even officially started yet.

 

Glancing to the nearby stores, Dark took notice of one in particular. Just what they needed.

 

“This way,” he said as he picked up his stride. The others followed wordlessly in varying stages of speed, ranging from Wilford’s speed-walk to the doctor’s pained limps.

 

Pushing the door to a clothing store open, Dark suppressed a hiss as the cold metal stuck to his hands. He jerked them away from it, and instead used his back to open it. Wilford was the first to enter, then the Host with Dark adjusting his hood as the blind Ego shuffled in, and finally the doctor before the eldest let the door close behind him.

 

A middle-aged woman who was folding clothes behind the counter had glanced up as soon as the door opened. She now eyed the group of four with a brow arched. “Little cold to be wandering around with nothing warmer on,” she quipped.

 

The _look_ Dark gave her had her face paling. “Mm,” he mused, “I would _assume_ that’s why we’re here.” His lip curled in a sneer before he turned briskly away from her and went on a search for the shop’s winter garments. Wilford was close to follow, whereas the other two found a bench near the entrance and seated themselves so they could warm up.

 

Eventually, Wilford wandered off to another part of the store and Dark found that replacing the candy-scented Ego at his side was the Host. He glanced up at the hooded face, grabbed the Host by his coat, and led him off to a different rack of heavy winter jackets. The blind Ego didn’t protest, but did raise a brow slightly. Dark really wasn’t fond of using their human names, even if it would have been easier to simply call one of their names than grab their shirts and drag them elsewhere.

 

The Host cleared his throat and shook the other’s hand off, then paused as if racking his brain for the ‘proper’ way of speaking. “Damien.” Another pause. “I will insist that you use your words. It makes communication far easier.”

 

Dark didn’t respond immediately. He first reached up to fumble with a coat hanging on the wall. The Host suppressed a smirk as he Saw Dark stand on his toes to reach better moments before the older Ego actually did it. “Try this,” he ordered after he’d finally succeeded in pulling it down.

 

The Host raised a brow and took the coat as it was pressed into his hands. “Fur-lined?” he asked, skeptically. Surely the blood would ruin the hood if that was the case. Nonetheless, with it folded over one arm, he fumbled with the buttons of his own jacket before passing it to Dark after he’d slipped it off. The demonic Ego blinked at the unexpected weight. Turned out the Host’s aluminum bat was strapped snugly within by the handle. The Host, well aware of where Dark’s thoughts were going, simply shrugged one shoulder as he pulled the new coat on, feeling no need for a verbal answer. He’d kept his sweatshirt on so as not to reveal his bandaged eyes (or lack thereof), and then pulled the faux-furred hood over top of it.

 

“Perfectly sized,” Dark mused. The beige, nearly ankle-length coat had an oversized hood that did an even better job of covering the blind Ego’s face than that old sweatshirt could.

 

“Mm.” Host adjusted how the sleeves rested at his wrists, shuffled his feet to feel the bottom of the coat swishing at his calves, tilted his head to feel fur brush his cheeks and bridge of his nose. “It will be sufficient in keeping the chill out of the—my face. However, I suggest Da—you search for yourself, now.” Host slipped the coat off, took his old one from Dark to drape them both over the same arm, and moved on to where the doctor was sorting through gloves.

 

A quick glance about to look for Wilford, and Dark really couldn’t help a grimace. Host had already been smirking by that point, likely having Seen the expression (and/or clothing choice) coming.

 

Wilford’s choice of winter garments was certainly…loud. He was grinning wide, holding up a neon pink parka for Dark to see. It was accented with acid greens and electric blues, making an almost sickening combination. Even the woman at the counter looked disgusted by his choice. She had a _‘why the fuck do we even carry that style?’_ sort of look on her face.

 

Shaking his head and withholding a sigh, Dark started digging for his own coat. Why Wilford needed to _buy_ one when he could just grab one out of thin air was beyond Dark. Then again, it was Wilford. He probably wanted to try and find the most obnoxious one possible, and _that_ was one not even Will could have thought up.

 

Pale hands sifted through the hung coats, feeling the materials. Dark brown eyes read the sizes, the prices.

 

A dark blue parka. A white trenchcoat. A fur-lined black vest. There was nothing that caught his taste or looked warm enough. Nothing seemed… _fitting_ , for the demonic Ego.

 

“Damien.” Brown eyes glanced up as the human name was said, meeting the doctor’s dark green. Dr. Iplier had set aside a white parka with matching gloves and a beanie, but at that moment was holding a long black coat. “If you haven’t found one, I think you should take a look at this one.”

 

Dark placed the black and blue coat he’d been examining back on the rack and made his way over to the youngest of their group. His brows raised as he took in the sight of the coat, matching scarf wrapped around its hanger. He took it from the doctor and tried it on overtop his suit jacket.

 

It fit comfortably, the bottom falling around his knees. It was lined with short, yet warm, fur, while the scarf was some sort of soft, dark purple material.

 

“This will do just fine.” He messed with the sleeves and buttons a bit, making sure everything fit properly, before glancing up. Dr. Iplier had already paid and was now counting out Host’s cash. “Wilford! We’re leaving.”

 

The candy-scented Ego perked up and practically skipped to Dark’s side. The eldest suppressed a roll of the eyes and led the way to the counter, slipping the jacket and scarf off so they could be rung up.

 

“We really should find a place for lunch,” Dr. Iplier said. He’d already pulled on his parka, and was adjusting how the beanie rested over his ears. His lab coat dangled below it, almost looking like a part of it with how well the whites matched each other. “And I’ll be damned if you think I’ll let any of you skip a meal again.”

 

The cashier raised her brow at him, but went on to check out Wilford’s items last as Dark gathered his up to put them on yet again.

 

“Bar-and-grill across the street’s a good lunch place,” the cashier said politely, almost rehearsed. She pointed to the brick building with cars parked out front that could be seen through the window.

 

It was Doc’s turn to raise his brow. The Ipliers didn’t— _couldn’t—_ drink thanks to Mark’s own inability. It had always made holidays oh, _so_ fun when they were the ones who wound up dragging the Septics to empty beds, couches, or the love seat since they’d gotten too tipsy to find them on their own.

 

Then again, they didn’t _have_ to drink while they were there. It was a bar-and-grill, after all. Didn’t those have regular restaurant-seating, as well?

 

Dark looked to his companions. They simply shrugged or nodded—good enough.

 

As they turned to leave, the woman’s voice stopped them. “Hey, wait! Have I seen you guys before? You seem familiar.”

 

Dark felt a wry grin creep over his face. Ah. A former fan, was she? The others looked somewhat uncomfortable, but hid it well. “A _coincidence,_ I’m sure,” said Dark smoothly. “We’ve never been in this area, and…really didn’t get out much until recently.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

 

They didn’t wait for a reply as they exited the store.

 

Was it really that obvious to the former fans that the Egos were familiar? If so, they would need to be even more careful than they’d previously believed…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thinking of Will's new coat has me cringing-


	24. Break Time Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Brief Non-Explicit Nudity, Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was home sick today, so decided to finish up another chapter <3 Now the plot can really get rolling~  
> (this chapter contains no OCs besides Kyler)

**December 5** **th** **, 2030, 10:45 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Chase had been in and out of a depressive episode ever since Jameson and Anti had stopped by. He missed them both. _A lot._ He just hadn’t had the guts to face them, and thus had decided to hide out in Bing’s ‘office’ until the pair had left later that afternoon. After that, for the past week or so, he’d been between cheery, to off, to just all-out feeling down.

 

Toes curling against the shower mat, arms wrapped around himself, the Ego let the hot water roll off his back. It turned his skin an angry red and burned as it fell across his neck and the back of his head, but he didn’t mind that. It helped him keep his mind off of other, negative, things.

 

“PMA,” he reminded himself with a deep breath as he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. With the fan on, it was a bit chilly as he stepped out from under the warmth of the water, but it also allowed him to see himself clearly in the un-fogged mirror. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then a second to start rubbing into his hair.

 

He looked nothing like his creator anymore. Honestly, he was more like your stereotypical, middle-aged, American dad with his new appearance.

 

Chase traced a hand over his forearm, where the tattoo once shared by all the Septics and their creator used to reside, towel now hanging around his neck. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bummed about it being gone and his hair no longer green. Chase didn’t like his new look. It was just too… _average._

 

The Septic smiled wryly. Average. How fitting.

 

Brown eyes met their mirrored pair. Chase’s arms crossed over his bare chest, hands gripping at his shoulders. He turned around, looking over one shoulder and right at the mirror-image of his back.

 

Though he was bummed about his original tattoo having disappeared with the change in his appearance, he would admit that the new one was growing on him. Chase wasn’t sure if the other Septics’ tattoos had all been replaced elsewhere on their bodies, but he at least knew his own had been. He’d only discovered it in the last week or so. The only time he’d taken his shirt of since coming Outside was to shower, and it wasn’t until recently that he’d thought to look at his back in the mirror.

 

Magic backfiring, incidents with knives, tricks gone wrong to send him sprawling on jagged concrete. It had left his back with a lot of scar tissue over the years. Many of the Egos shared the marks in varying places, in varying sizes, from varying incidents. Most of them had gunshot scars here and there as well. Chase huffed a laugh. That was the only sort he didn’t share with the others.

 

“Guess it’s fortunate I’m fuckin’ bulletproof,” he murmured softly. Of all the abilities to have, that was certainly one of the most useful yet annoying when you spent time around Warfstache… The guy was trigger-happy, everyone would admit that. That made being bulletproof a good thing.

 

That is, until Wilford had found out and dubbed Chase his ‘volunteer’ for target practice. That was when it got annoying…

 

The father huffed another laugh. That’s Warfstache for you.

 

His hands lowered from his shoulders to his ribs, fingers curling around his sides. Chase couldn’t help the small, upward curl of his lips as he looked over the tattoo in the mirror. It was done in a way to almost elegantly hide a lot of the scars, while incorporating the bigger ones into its very design. If that was the one to replace his original, he could live with that. It was a beautiful design, really.

 

The dark, feathered wings were done in a way to look like they were tucked against his back, ready to take flight at any moment. Some of the feathers were broken or missing, many of them following the contours of his marked back so carefully it was almost unreal. Chase had never had a problem with the marks, but he wouldn’t complain about the wings. They were…a nice change.

 

PMA, he thought, smile growing a little.

 

God… How long ago had Seán started the whole Positive Mental Attitude thing? Was it really thirteen fucking years ago?

 

“Damn…” Chase murmured. He shook his head. For the Egos, it seemed far longer. Time passed differently for them than it did Outside.

 

Rapping on the door caught the Septic’s attention. “Dad?” It was Kyler’s voice. “Amy’s looking for you.”

 

“Tell her I’m getting dressed and’ll be out in a few minutes!”

 

“M’kay!” Footsteps retreated from the bathroom door. Chase turned back toward the mirror.

 

Fingers combing through still-damp hair, Chase let out a sigh. Maybe he could try something new with it now that the green was no longer his permanent ‘natural’ color. Bleach it, maybe? He’d always been kind of curious how that would look on him. Wait…if his green had turned natural did that mean Warftache’s mustache..? Oh, _god_ , now there was an interesting thing to imagine! Then why had Yan’s hair remained vibrant red?

 

Chuckling with a shake of his head, Chase pulled the towel from his neck to hang it up. Why he was thinking of hair colors was beyond him, but maybe that meant today would be a better day for him.

 

Hanging up the towel that had been around his waist as well, the Septic pulled on a simple, fresh change of clothes. He ran a comb through his hair backward so it would dry poofy, took one last look in the mirror, and exited the bathroom.

 

Cutting toward the living room, Chase peeked in. Sure enough, Amy was in there on the couch. Bing, who was connected to his charger but wide awake, had his body turned toward her at they chatted. Kyler, Sophie, Yan, and Mark were nowhere in sight, while the Twins were at work. They’d started their new job at the news station two days ago and, though there were certainly a few bumps in the road, they were pretty good at it.

 

As the Septic entered the room further, the woman’s brows raised and she offered him a smile.

 

“S’ah, dude.” Bing offered a dumb grin.

 

Chase could only roll his eyes. “Shut up, man,” he laughed, plopping himself down in the empty love-seat. “Ky said you needed me?” he asked, gaze shifting to Amy.

 

The reply was a nod. “I’m taking you two out to see your apartment, then to have lunch. You need some time to relax,” she looked at Bing as she said that, then her gaze shifted to Chase, “and feel better. It’ll be good for you.”

 

Chase nodded slowly. “I…think that sounds like a good idea, actually.”

 

The android huffed and crossed his arms, however. “C’mon, dude… I’ve still got so many fuckin’ docs to finish. I told ya I shouldn’t waste any time.” The _look_ that both Chase and Amy gave him had Bing throwing up his hands with eyes brightening. “Okay, okay! I’ll go!” With how quickly he gave in, it was almost painfully obvious Bing would have taken any excuse to step away from the computer for a while.

 

Amy clapped her hands together, smiling. She then passed a pair of sunglasses and hair tie to Bing. “Why don’t you try these on?”

 

The android took the hair tie with a shrug, fingers combing through his hair so he could pull it into a short ponytail. The sunglasses, however, were just given a look. “Why can’t I just wear my old pair?”

 

“I know you’re sentimental about them, but we need to _not_ draw attention to your eyes. And your old pair, well…”

 

There was disappointment on his face, but Bing relented. The shirt he was wearing was already a thick material that concealed his his glowing emblem, so to finish the ‘human’ look all the android did was slip on the sunglasses.

 

Disconnecting the charger from himself, Bing stood and stretched. “Might as well get goin’.”

 

The trio did some running around so Amy could show them different routes before they finally pulled up to the duplexitself. The white van slid to a smooth stop at the side of the street, and Amy gestured at it, hand waving in front of Chase’s face since he was front passenger. Bing just leaned in between the two to take a look.

 

“Everything’s ready, so we’ll be moving you guys in there tomorrow if you’re ready for it,” she said.

 

Grins from the Egos answered. They’d been staying at Mark and Amy’s for almost a month by that point, and now they were getting their own apartment!

 

“I forgot the key at the house, so won’t be able to let you in to see. But trust me—it’s a pretty nice place for the area!” She was smiling as she eased the van back into motion. She continued talking as she drove, the other two piping in occasionally, as she explained how to get to the Twins’ station from the duplex, to the main drag, and anything else they asked as she headed toward main itself. “There’s a nice cafe we’ll be going to. It’s within walking distance from your new place if you ever want to stop in, too.”

 

Parking the van in the designated area, Amy pulled the key from the ignition, grabbed her purse, and hopped out. The other two weren’t far behind, and followed her into a simple Internet cafe.

 

The barista glanced up when the trio entered, offering Amy a polite smile. “Been a while, Mrs. Fischbach!”

 

The woman returned the gesture with a nod of the head. “It has. Good to see you again, Iffy.”

 

“So. What I do you for?”

 

“Just the usual coffee for me.”

 

“Separate or together?”

 

Chase answered, “Separate,” earning a nod.

 

The barista jotted down Amy’s order, then wrote her name at the top of it. At the look she gave it, he shrugged and pointed at the ticket dispenser. “Ran out and my supplier’s being a dickhead about sending more. So. We’ll be calling out names instead of numbers until the order comes in.” He tore the order off the pad, set it on the counter, and turned to the android. “For you?”

 

Bing looked up at the menu, frowning at most of the items. Most of them were way too sweet! He could eat, of course, but he rarely did and couldn’t stand anything sweet. “Just a…small black coffee, I guess?”

 

Iffy scribbled it down. “And name?”

 

“Ben Iplier. I-P-L-I-E-R.” The barista raised a brow at the android, and a very uncomfortable feeling settled in Bing’s chest.

 

Chase was turned to last, not noticing the look Bing was given. “Everything bagel with cream cheese, please! Oh, and a small hot tea. Lyons if you’ve got it, or just whatever if ya don’t.” The barista wrote it down, then raised his brows. “Oh, right! Chase Brody.”

 

The barista about dropped his pen, but covered it with a laugh and saying how clumsy he was. The trio paid, then went and found a table to wait for their orders.

 

“Bi—Ben?” Chase corrected himself smoothly, then furrowed his brow. The android looked somewhat on edge. “You good, man?”

 

“Somethin’ about the way he looked at me…” he mumbled. “I dunno. Gave me chills.”

 

Amy tipped her head slightly. “Iffy? He’s harmless! He’s owned this place for years, buddy.”

 

Bing just shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. His acute hearing could pick up on what the barista was saying, a phone now against his ear, but the conversation didn’t make any sense.

 

Back to the rest of the cafe, the barista was speaking slightly hushed into his cellphone as he got the drinks made. “Garring? Yeah. Yeah, I’m positive.”

 

A pause. “What do you mean _‘you’re busy’_?!” Another pause, and he huffed through is nose. “Yes. Two more _at least_. …What? No, no! Where _are_ you? I—wait. Why are you _there?!”_ Iffy added sweetener to a coffee as he finished it. His head was shaking as he started to grumble.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Garring… If you can’t get here, then get a hold of Hunter and send his ass over! No, no, I’m not—Garring!” The barista’s shoulders relaxed slightly with the next pause. _“Thank you._ My God, was it really that hard? …Yeah, two. And get this:”

 

The barista paused, smiling slightly. Bing flinched slightly when he heard a shout from the other end of the phone urging Iffy to spit it out.

 

“Looks like they know the Fischbachs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? Oops~


	25. Break Time Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Deceit, Mild Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn the true identity of Iffy the Barista~
> 
> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! ;; I was gone all weekend, so had no time to work on it until tonight!  
> Also, this chapter gave me really bad writer's block??? It messed up my usual rhythm with two chapter in a row of the same group!

**December 5** **th** **, 2030, 12:03 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

“Looks like they know the Fischbachs.”

 

As soon as those words were said, Bing went rigid as stone. His companions eyed him curiously, and he couldn’t help but flinch when Chase’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder. The Septic was quick to pull away.

 

Garring. Hunter. Who were they? And why was Iffy telling this ‘Garring’ about Chase and him knowing the Fischbachs? He didn’t say their names, but it was all too easy to tell that Iffy meant the two Egos who’d entered his cafe. Did he… No, no. That wasn’t possible.

 

“Are you all right?” Amy’s brows furrowed with worry.

 

All Bing could offer was an awkward half-shrug. “I-I dunno, man.” Behind his sunglasses he was eyeing the barista. When their eyes met again, phone still pressed to the man’s ear, the android still felt discomfort, but the icy chill that had settled in his core the first time didn’t return. Odd.

 

The man put everything up on the counter and called their names as if nothing had happened. Bing wouldn’t budge, so Amy actually wound up grabbing his coffee for him. Amy set it down in front of him and nudged him gently. “Hey. What’s up?”

 

“I dunno, man,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Could we just…y’know, head back? Please?”

 

The barista leaned on one elbow against the counter. He wouldn’t take his eyes off Bing, now. There was just something… _off,_ about him, that Bing didn’t like, and the way he wouldn’t break eye contact didn’t help any. Iffy just gave off a vibe that reminded the android of some of the other Egos, and not in a good way: Stubborn, standoffish, hiding something, but damn good at keeping it all under the surface. Like a combination of Green and Red, Dark, Ed, and Wilford. He didn’t like it. It sent his circuits sizzling and alarms buzzing in his head to _get away_.

 

“Can we go?” he repeated. Bing didn’t notice the rising urgency in his voice when the barista perked up slightly and tightened his grip on the cellphone. When the barista’s voice became more hushed as he realized the android could hear him. _“Please?”_

 

Chase and Amy exchanged a look. Bing didn’t seem to notice, too fixated on the barista. His knuckles began to creak as he curled them into tight fists to keep from fidgeting.

 

“Ben—”

 

“We need to _go,_ ” he was practically whining, now. Begging. “Somethin’s…off. I-I don’t like it…”

 

Another look was shared between his companions before they stood, grabbing their drinks and (in Chase’s case) food. “Sure…” said Amy. She sounded uncertain, and kept glancing between the Egos. Chase just shrugged. Despite his Perception, he couldn’t Feel Bing’s emotions since his were just programs. It left him as lost to the situation as the human.

 

It was when they stood that Iffy almost rushedly ended his call and waved to catch Amy’s attention. “Hey! Mind chatting for a bit?” He put on a warm, polite smile. “It’s been way too long!”

 

The woman returned the smile, and it was only when she approached the counter and the man’s gaze moved to Bing again that Chase stiffened as well. There was a crack in the mask the barista had put on. Irritation. …Irritation? Chase could Feel it radiating from the man. It was just so out of place with the facade he was putting on. The father wouldn’t have even known had he not been able to Feel the barista’s emotions when he actually decided to pay attention to them.

 

The Septic’s brown eyes met the android’s veiled pair. Bing’s didn’t linger long before returning to Iffy’s form.

 

Had it been possible for robots to have natural fight-or-flight responses, Bing would have been practically shaking with the anticipation of bolting from the cafe. Instead, his entire frame practically locked up. It was as if he was preparing himself to throw a punch or _be_ punched with how rigid he’d gone despite the fact _flee_ was the response he was feeling.

 

“…Who is he?” Chase asked in a hushed tone. He barely heard himself, but he knew the android would head.

 

“I-I dunno, man. But we need to get outta here. What do you Feel?”

 

Chase shook his head. “He…reminds me of Ed: Fake. But hiding it _really_ well, and I don’t like it. I almost couldn’t tell what he was really feeling.” He paused, frowning deeply. “…Something annoyed him, and I think it’s you.” He paused again and gave Bing one of those looks the android used to get when he’d eavesdrop on Chase’s phone calls with Stacy; before Bing would snatch away the phone and start a shouting match with her. “You were listening to him, weren’t you?”

 

Instead of answering, Bing just repeated, “We need to get outta here.”

 

“Chase, Ben! C’mere, you doofs.” Amy was trying to wave them over. The pair exchanged uneasy glances. “Come on you two!”

 

She was leaning against the counter, out of the way if customers came up but still close to the barista. Iffy himself had his arms crossed over the polished wood surface and offered an apologetic glance in Bing’s direction. “Wanted to apologize,” he said as the pair made a cautious approach, sticking close to Amy. “This’s supposed to be a comfortable environment for my customers, and you’re clearly not comfortable.” He tipped his head toward the swinging door that would lead to the kitchen. “I’m the only one working right now, so why don’t we talk in back? I’d like to set things right.”

 

A smile curled over his lips and he outstretched a hand to Bing.

 

The android just eyed it, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

 

The woman elbowed him gently in the side, and Bing flinched away from the contact. With a huff, he stretched out his own and the two shook hands. “…Fine. But I ain’t stayin’ long.”

 

Setting their drinks and food on the counter next to Amy, the Egos followed Iffy in back with a lot of hesitance. There was something up with this guy, but they’d never find out _what_ if they didn’t let him explain himself. That is, if he even told the truth.

 

“All right. Spit it out,” Bing growled as soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the diner. He was still ready to bolt at any moment, and the feigned acid in his tone made it clear he wasn’t at all confident.

 

At his side, Chase tensed up. “Dude!”

 

A shrug was all the barista offered as he leaned against a stainless steel fridge door. “He’s in the right to be upset. I’m not offended.”

 

Bing curled his lip slightly, teeth bared. In return, the Septic elbowed him roughly in the side; both grimaced: Bing out of reflex, and Chase because he’d just _bruised his fucking elbow on a robot._ “Watch your temper, bro,” the father warned. What that really meant was _‘turn your fucking emotions back on.’_

 

Iffy raised his brows and cleared his throat. “Anyway—”

 

“Why the interest in us?” Bing asked after a moment.

 

“Interest? I don’t know—”

 

Interrupted yet again by the android, the barista was forced to go quiet, “Don’t fuck with me, man. I heard your conversation with that ‘Garring’ dude. So what’s the deal?”

 

The barista’s smile dropped and expression morphed into something that sent a chill down their spines. Bing instinctively put an arm in front of the Septic and pushed Chase behind him.

 

“Can’t have a little _fun,_ now, can I?” Iffy rolled his eyes and huffed. Chase gasped as the man’s hold on his emotions dropped and the true ones hit the Septic like a train; all at once so he had to struggle to sort through them. He eyed Chase a moment, then, “Fine. Just wanted a nice little talk, but now I want you _out of my fucking diner._ And I suggest you get your asses outta here well before the Hunter shows up.”

 

Iffy pushed himself away from the fridge and before Bing knew it, the man was right in his face. The android couldn’t suppress a growl as he stiffened. Chase’s eyes blew wide. Humans _did not_ make that sound. Fuck…

 

The sound just made Iffy frown. “Another fucking…” He shook his head and leaned forward, nose-to-nose with the android. Bing was shorter than him and could smell the man’s peppermint breath as he was forced to look up to meet the man’s eyes. “Get out of my fucking diner, Egos.”

 

The reaction of the two got a grin from the man. They both went from tense and uneasy to downright panicked: Looking around almost frantically for a way out, eyes wide, mouths falling open, Chase’s face paling.

 

Chase was the one who dared to speak. “H-how did you—”

 

Scoffing, the barista gestured at them as he stepped back and took his spot against the fridge again. “You two are some of the most obvious I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

 

Bing’s brows furrowed. “And…you’re not freakin’ out?”

 

“Ha! Why would I?”

 

“’Cause…we’re not…” Chase shook his head without finishing. He combed his fingers through his hair; he only then realized that he’d left his hat back at the house. Well, dammit.

 

Iffy shrugged. “Not human? Do you not know another Ego when you see one? My fucking God… You two new out here or something?”

 

The pair exchanged a look. Bing spoke this time, “You mean…you’re an Ego?”

 

“Duh? You two are a pair of goddamn idiots if I ever saw one.”

 

Chase pushed Bing behind him this time, despite the android’s squeak of protest. “First of all: Knock it the fuck off with the insults. Two: Who the hell are you?”

 

Brow raised, Iffy put up his hands in lazy mock surrender. He grinned without saying anything, and it widened when he noticed the rise it got out of Chase.

 

“Spit it out, man!” the Septic demanded, trigger finger twitching. He was _this_ close to pulling a gun.

 

“Infelix.” His grin disappeared and was replaced by that cold expression yet again. “Now get off my fucking property.”

 

Iffy—no, no… _Infelix—_ whipped around and stalked farther in the back, disappearing into another room. Chase swallowed and stepped backward. His back bumped Bing’s chest, and both yelped with surprise.

 

The android broke the silence. “Infelix? That…That’s PewDiePie’s dark Ego—kinda like Dark and Anti, but he was formed completely from headcanons. I haven’t looked, but I don’t think he even ever got a video.”

 

“Dude. One: Anti’s not that bad, you just don’t like him ‘cause you’re a robot. Two: Be super-computer-smart at home. We need to get outta here.”

 

Nodding and composing themselves, the pair returned to Amy’s side with convincing smiles. “How’d it go?” she asked as they gathered up their food and drinks from the counter.

 

Bing shrugged. “I…think we’ve come to an understanding. Let’s get back home so we can start packin’ up our shit.” The next grin came a little more naturally, even if what Infelix had said was gnawing at him, making it hard to focus even on his own two feet as the trio headed out to the van. Who was the Hunter, and why would he be after them? “I think we’re all excited about gettin’ into the new place!”

 

He and Chase shared a knowing look once Amy turned away. Hopefully the new location would make it harder for that Hunter dude to find them. Whoever he was, he didn’t sound like good news…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this satisfied you from last week's cliffhanger~ ;P
> 
> One of my headcanons for Chase is that he has Emotional Perception (can read others' emotions). This seemed like the best chapter to introduce it. <3


	26. You Saved Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Non-Consensual Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No wonder this chapter took so long... It ended up quite a bit longer than intended!

**December 9** **th** **, 2030, 6:00 AM**

**Brighton, England**

 

Bright blue eyes flicked up as a furry little creature situated itself in front of the magician. Marvin tilted his head at the rodent, a smile coming to his lips. It was rather early, with Signe, Jackie, and Bim still sleeping. He hadn’t known the King was up, though.

 

“Hey there, Horatio,” he said, reaching forward to pat the squirrel on the head. “Where’s the King?” The rodent just chittered and twitched its tail, bounding off the table and scurrying away. Marvin could faintly hear the King calling for the little guy. From the sounds of it, he was on the roof again. Hopefully no one saw him up there this time. He’d nearly given a jogger a heart attack last week!

 

Shaking his head and chuckling, Marvin leaned back over the table and lined his cards back up properly. Each card had not a number or letter in opposite corners, but symbols. On the faces were not Jokers or Spades, Kings or Queens—instead, they were minimalist portraits of the other Septics and Ipliers.

 

The magician frowned at four in particular; those four grayed out. The others were bursting with color, leaving those four the odd ones out. Marvin shook his head.

 

He’d given each of the Egos a single card. That being, one with the four cardface symbols in the corners to match the design on Marvin’s mask, the magician’s profile in the center. It allowed him to Track them if needed, or for them to call out to him.

 

Unfortunately, if they destroyed their own cards, Marvin couldn’t use his to find them since his cards were Linked to the ones he’d given them.

 

He couldn’t help but glare at those four: Dark, the Host, Jacques, and Ed. Even the Googles kept theirs on them! It irritated the magician that those four had been so quick to destroy their cards. Dark, Ed, and Jacques had burned theirs, whereas Host had dropped his in a paper shredder. All four had done so years ago.

 

Sighing and snapping his fingers, the cards arranged themselves in a neat, alphabetical pile—Anti’s card on the very top—and the pile disappeared into thin air. He wanted to track the others—Schneep especially—but it took so much energy to do so without being called by a card-holder. He’d need to consume a lot of calories beforehand, and preferably have someone in the room with him. Even if he was careful and took in a lot of calories, there was still a good chance he’d overexert himself trying to Track the other cards. He’d need someone to pull him from the spell if that happened.

 

Another frown fell over the magician’s face. Beneath his mask, his brows furrowed. He could try to plan a day in the near future for when he’d Track the others.

 

“Marv?” Seán peeked into the kitchen.

 

Marvin sat up and set his gaze on his creator. “Yeah?”

 

“Mark texted. Your documents’re done.”

 

Nodding, Marvin stood and pushed himself away from the table. He recited Mark’s address, then looked to his creator quizzically. Seán nodded in return.

 

“Mark says Bing’s hackin’ into somethin’ so you can teleport on over. He’s turnin’ off the street lights or somethin’, I guess? They want ya to get as close to the house as y’can, though.”

 

“Street lights?” It was morning! Then the magician paused. “Ooh, right, time zones!” If he was correct, it was about the middle of the night in Los Angeles. That made it the best time for Marvin to head on over since the chances of a human seeing him were about as low as they could get.

 

He’d forgotten that the humans’ plane had time zones that actually made sense. Why had he thought time was the same everywhere here, though? Sure, back in the Egos’ plane the time of day was always different with each area, but that was because such areas had longer or shorter periods of dark and light. Their plane was like a mash-up of different worlds—some from video games, others films. In the Septics’ area daylight was always like noon, and there were twelve even hours of day and night. The Ipliers’ more like a constant state of dawn with less nighttime hours.

 

Now that he thought of it, the humans’ plane was actually a lot less confusing in that regard.

 

Everything else, on the other hand…

 

“Marv.”

 

The magician blinked. Right. He needed to go to Mark’s now.

 

Grabbing the edge of his cape with one hand, Marvin brought it in a sweeping motion upward in front of himself, his form disappearing from Seán’s sight. When the cape was all that remained, it disappeared in a burst of confetti that startled the man.

 

Marvin’s feet hit soft grass, and he took a smooth step forward to regain his balance. The street was dark, as were most of the houses sparsed around it. Taking a look at those with lights still on, Marvin jumped when a door to one nearby opened.

 

“Marvin!” Mark was standing in the open doorway and waving the magician down.

 

The Septic bolted for the door. The street lights turned on only after he was safely inside.

 

“Holy fuck,” the ex-YouTuber said. Espresso-brown eyes were fixed on Marvin’s, but he had to crane his neck some to actually meet them. “You grew a whole damn foot!”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Marvin grinned. “Yeah…” He was pretty well aware of the fact.

 

Mark shook his head with a chuckle, then turned and moved further into the home. “The Twins and kids are all at their apartment, but Chase and Bing wanted to see you.” Marvin perked up at that. One, they had a fucking _apartment_ already? Two, _Chase_ wanted to see him? He hadn’t been in contact with anyone but his own group and Mark since he’d left! Three, Mark brought up the Twins and kids, but what about Yandereplier? “Take it easy on Chase, all right? Also, something’s got them spooked. Maybe that’s what they need to talk to you about.”

 

The magician nodded. He reached up to adjust his mask as he followed the man through the living room and then a connected hallway. Mark stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.

 

Answering was who Marvin assumed was Bing. His brows raised in surprise at the android. Bing wore a thin tanktop that allowed his emblem to shine through, and his yellow-orange eyes were fully visible with his lack of sunglasses. He was shorter than Mark now, stockier. Honestly, he reminded Marvin of a wrestler.

 

“Marv? You’re fuckin’ huge, man!”

 

“But built like a twig,” the magician retorted with a grin. “You could break me in half.”

 

Bing rolled his eyes and opened the door further, allowing entry to the Ego. The android nodded to his creator, then shut the door. Behind it, they could hear Mark’s steps retreating; likely headed toward his room. It was pretty late in LA, after all.

 

Marvin took a glance around the room; a makeshift office of sorts. There was a large desk, computer, laminator, and some other things Marvin wasn’t sure of (he’d never been much of a techie; he left that to Jackie and the androids). On the desk were also multiple Manila envelopes stuffed full of what he assumed were documents. Why were there more than four, though?

 

Bing followed the older Ego’s gaze and said, “Anti and James asked for some, too. Dunno when they’re pickin’ ‘em up, though.”

 

Marvin nodded, smiling a little. That meant Jameson and Anti were safe. Good. He turned away from the desk and his smile only widened when he saw who must have been Chase, hiding somewhat behind Bing. That smile faded when the younger Septic wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 

“…Chase?”

 

“Hey…”

 

Head tilting a bit, Marvin crossed his arms. “You look like a dad. Like, a legit dad with an office job an’ everything. So _not_ cool. Also…are those grays?”

 

Bing did his best to hide a snort, while Chase himself bit his lip as a smile tried to sneak its way onto his face.

 

“S’good to see ya too, Marv,” the other Septic finally said. He still wouldn’t look Marvin in the eye, but he ended up with one of those awkward smiles that just don’t go away no matter how hard you try.

 

The magician laughed. He’d missed those two dorks. “How’ve you been?” he asked. “Mark said you’ve got a fuckin’ apartment already?”

 

Both nodded but Bing was the one to speak. “Yeah, dude! A four-room duplex. Twins have a job already, too!”

 

“Fuckin’ A. Seriously?”

 

The android nodded, grinning. “News anchor and weatherman for the same station an’ shifts.”

 

Marvin shook his head, unable to hide the grin on his face. They were settling in well, it seemed. “That’s awesome. Glad you guys are doin’ all right.”

 

Bing’s grin faded after a moment, and he sank down to the floor. Chase and Marvin followed suit. “Nice as it is t’see ya, man, we’ve got some serious shit to talk about.”

 

Brows furrowing, the magician leaned forward slightly. “Mark said you two’ve been on edge. That what this is about?” When both nodded, Marvin leaned back again and planed his hands on his knees. “Is somethin’ going on?”

 

Finally, Chase spoke, “For starters, there’s other Egos out here, man. We met one of Felix’s a few days ago. Dude was an asshole, but…fuck.” He shook his head without finishing.

 

Bing took up the explanation from there. “This dude, Infelix, knew we were Egos about as soon as we entered the diner. He was chattin’ with some dude called Garring about us bein’ in his diner. From what I picked up, he knows about more than just Chase and I. I’ve got no clue who the others he knows about are, but he was tellin’ this Garring dude to send this Hunter dude over. Infelix was gettin’ ticked ‘cause Garring couldn’t come, so was cussin’ him out to send the Hunter.”

 

The android let a distressed growl rumble from his chest, fingers combing through his hair. Chase put a hand on his shoulder and decided to continue. “Then Infelix wanted to talk to us in the back of the diner. We didn’t know he was an Ego until we were back there with him alone. The dude dropped the charming cafe-owner act and turned into a goddamn in-your-face prick. He told us to get outta his diner before that Hunter dude showed up.”

 

“We dunno who the Hunter is,” Bing continued, “but they know that we know the Fischbachs. We dunno if we’re bein’ tracked, or hunted, or whatever, but… Somethin’ ain’t right, man. People out here know about Egos. That can’t be good news.”

 

Marvin’s face had paled as he took in the information and a very uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He was glad they’d sat down; his legs felt weak.

 

“Y-you’re…sure..?” he finally managed, voice soft and almost squeaking.

 

Both nodded yet again.

 

Chase said, “We’re tellin’ Mark and Amy in the morning. Probably should’a told ‘em right away, but…God, I dunno what to do about this, man. Tell Seán and Signe for sure. They need to know about this. We’re gonna start contactin’ who we can. The others need to know so they can keep an eye out.”

 

“Marv,” said Bing, softly, resting a strong yet gentle hand on the older Ego’s shoulder, “as long as we’re careful, we should be okay. But one slip-up could be dangerous. We dunno what’s goin’ on, but it ain’t good, man.”

 

Chase was at his side almost out of nowhere, looping a seemingly hesitant arm around Marvin’s shoulders. “You’re probably pretty safe in Brighton, but please be careful, man.”

 

Marvin’s head bobbed slowly. “Right…” A shaky breath. “I’ll text Anti, and get Jackie to contact Silver.”

 

“Good,” said Chase. His arm tightened around the magician in a comforting way, and both leaned into each other. They hadn’t seen each other in a month, so weren’t quite ready to pull away from the embrace. “Bing’s gonna contact Ollie, so I’m sure Blue’ll tell Dark.”

 

Marvin straightened a little, the color returning to his face. “What groups are everyone in? I’m gonna try Trackin’ in a day or two, so it’ll be helpful if I can zone in on certain areas.”

 

Chase shrugged, looking to Bing. Bing, in turn, rolled his eyes. “The Twins, Yan, Sophie, and Ky are with us. The Googs, Ed, and Schneep are off on their own. Silver’s with Roxy and Jacques. And then Anti’s with Jameson. All in LA, unless Schneep and the Googs bolted elsewhere.” Bing’s gaze moved up to the ceiling as he did a mental count. “Then there’s your group in Brighton. And Dark’s in Breckenridge—some Colorado tourist town—with Host, Will, and Doc.”

 

Marvin just stared at the android. “…How the fuck do you know all that? And _why_ is Dark in a tourist town?”

 

A sheepish laugh came from the android. “I might’ve tracked your cell phones?” He put up his hands at the _look_ Marvin gave him. “I was tryin’ to find Schneep, okay? He broke his phone though so I don’t know where he is!”

 

“He broke his..? Fuck…” Something akin to a growl came from the magician. “I’m _definitely_ fuckin’ Tracking him now. S’far as we know, he could be in danger!”

 

Chase’s arms tightened around Marvin a moment. “We know, man. We know. We’re as worried as you; trust me.”

 

A sigh and Marvin pushed away from the younger Septic so he could move to his feet. “I need to tell Seán about others knowing about us and make plans to Track the others. Bing, could I have our documents?”

 

The other two stood with the android approaching the desk and picking up four of the envelopes. Each one had a name written in neat capital letters on the front. He handed them to Marvin, who tucked them under one arm, then returned to the desk. It looked like he was checking something, but Marvin wasn’t really sure what.

 

The magician jumped slightly when a hand grabbed the wrist of his free hand. The news that the two had given him had Marvin more on edge than he’d originally thought.

 

Turning to look at the other Septic, he met big brown eyes. “Marv… I-I’m sorry I cut you guys out. I dunno why I did, I just…” Chase shook his head and dropped his gaze, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.

 

“You thought we’d be angry with ya, didn’t you?” Chase just nodded slightly. “C’mon. You saved the rest of us!” Marvin could feel two curious sets of eyes on him now. So he explained, “You guys were the first to leave. If you hadn’t acted first, I don’t think all of us would have braved it and gotten out of there in time.” He smiled slightly and set the envelopes on the floor by his feet. Both hands now free, he placed them on Chase’s shoulders, forcing Chase to look at him. “Chase. You guys _saved us_. Jackie went into a panic after you left. He realized that we all needed to get out of there. If you hadn’t left first, some of us probably _would_ have faded before the others finally braved it.”

 

The other two looked taken aback. Bing had his eyebrows raised and eyes bright, as if it was something he hadn’t considered before. Chase’s own brows were furrowed, lips pursed. “…Really?” His voice was so small Marvin barely heard, but he nodded.

 

“Yes! Chase, I only had, like, a week or two left in me before I would’ve faded! Bim and the King had _days_ left. You guys leaving kicked the rest of us into considering it! How the _fuck_ could we be pissed about that?”

 

Before the other Septic could protest, Marvin dragged him into a tight embrace. Chase went stiff, arms locked at his side and eyes wide. “Don’t push us away,” the magician pleaded. Due to their vast height differences, Marvin had to settle with resting his chin on Chase’s head, while Chase buried his face against Marvin’s chest. The younger one’s arms slowly lifted and snaked around Marvin’s back, gripping at his shirt almost desperately.

 

“Marv… I-I’m so sorry…” he whimpered. He sounded close to tears. “I was just…I was so scared, man… I-I thought you guys were gonna hate me…”

 

The magician shook his head. “Trust me when I say that we could _never_ hate you, Chase. You understand me? Never. You surprised us is all.”

 

Marvin turned his head slightly, meeting Bing’s eye. The android offered a smile, so Marvin returned it. _“He needed to hear that from one of you,”_ the robot mouthed. Marvin knew that “one of you” was meant as in the Septics.

 

Reluctantly, Marvin pulled away. For a moment, he almost thought he’d have to physically uncurl Chase’s fingers from his shirt, but the younger soon released him and stepped away. Chase was scrubbing at his eyes and sniffling, but the glint in those deep brown eyes almost seemed brighter now.

 

Bending down to pick up the enveloped, Marvin offered a toothy smile to the other two. To Chase, he said, “Try to stay in contact, okay? Or else I’ll teleport over here every day to make you _hug_ me.” He said it as if it was the worst punishment in the world, and he caught a bright smile from Bing when it made Chase laugh.

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

“Promise? Or else I’ll drag Jackie over here, too!”

 

“I promise, I promise!” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. His face was somewhat splotchy with red. So he _had_ been crying. “Thanks, man. I-I really needed that.”

 

Free hand reaching out, Marvin ruffled the younger Ego’s hair. He wasn’t sure why Chase didn’t have his cap on, but he wouldn’t complain. Made getting another laugh out of him easier!

 

“Okay, knock it off!” Chase batted the hand away. He had a big smile now, and it probably wouldn’t be going away for a while.

 

Marvin chuckled and grabbed the edge of his cape. “Was good seein’ you two again. _Please_ stay in contact and be careful!” When they both gave thumbs-ups, the magician nodded and teleported away. The only sign that remained of him having been there was the confetti that rained down in Chase’s hair before it, too, slowly faded from existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to this scene. <3 As you can probably guess, Chase is going to have a much easier time now


	27. Different, Yet the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**December 6** **th** **, 2030, 5:30 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Arms crossed stiffly over his chest, eyes blank as white noise flickered through them, Blue carefully looked over Green’s coding; at how his repairs were integrating with the rest of his frame. Oliver did the same, but with Red; both previously damaged Upgrades were still in shutdown. It had been a slow process. A long process. Longer than they would have liked. Finding all the parts they needed to repair the two had practically turned into a…what was the term? Ah, yes, “wild goose chase.” All over LA. A lot of money wasted on cabs, a lot of rolled eyes at the stupidity of the humans around them. But they’d finally scraped up the last items they’d needed, allowing Blue and Oliver to get to work.

 

Blue lowered his arms and reached one hand toward the youngest Upgrade. Blindly, he pressed his fingers against Green’s sides, where the ribs in something organic would be protruding. The bare chest hummed under his hand as he then pressed it against Green’s core; it glowed strong as ever, pulsed in similar fashion to a heart under Blue’s fingers. “Frame no longer overheating,” he noted aloud. With white noise still filling his gaze, he couldn’t see Oliver’s nod, though could hear his relieved, venting sigh. “What is Red’s status?”

 

Humming. Shuffling. Then, “Repairs appear to have integrated properly. Just need to start him up to see if he can move properly again.”

 

“Begin the startup process, then.”

 

Oliver nodded. They both disconnected the cables stretching from their own wrists to the backs of their comrade’s necks, then opened matching compartments in the right side of Green and Red’s chests; at the clavicle. They moved swiftly and certainly, in near-sync with each other.

 

Matching startup sounds; like an old Macintosh coming to life. Two pairs of glowing eyes—one red, the other green—flared into being.

 

Green was the first to sit up. He was blinking, sucking in a long breath of air. His shoulders relaxed. Finally. His cooling systems were working again.

 

Red moved more slowly. Carefully, with a grimace glued to his face. Still stiff. Sore. A dull ache in his spine that could go on for days until his frame adjusted to the disc replacements. But he could move freely now. No need for the damned crutches or the neck brace. No shooting pain up his back or a slow limp that forced the other three to slow down for him.

 

He felt hands on the back of his neck. Bright red eyes flicked upward, meeting yellow. Oliver was pressing his fingers against Red’s spine. Red winced as the fingers pressed over one of the new discs; a growl rumbled in his chest. Oliver pulled away without protest.

 

“It will be sore for some time,” the yellow Google said. Oliver held his hand out, clasped Red’s arm, and guided him to his feet. “How is your balance? Does it hurt to stand?”

 

Red didn’t answer right away. He instead straightened his back, slowly, took a testing step forward after letting go of Oliver’s arm. “Equilibrium sensors working properly,” he noted. “Dull ache and stiffness, but nothing I will be unable to handle.”

 

Oliver only nodded.

 

Blue turned his own gaze away from the two; returned it to Green. Everything seemed well. That meant they could move on to another task. One of their concerns had been money. They’d spent a lot on the repair parts and the Googles didn’t have as much as some of the other Ipliers to begin with. They were always using what Mark gave them for more parts. More upgrades. Anything they’d thought they needed. Now, regret. Yes, they had been some of the best at saving their money, but they…couldn’t exactly get to it. It was back home. Hidden away within Egos, Inc. Really, it would probably never see the light of day again.

 

Mouth open in preparation to speak, Blue’s attempt at words turned into a chirping trill when a phone started ringing. The Upgrades snickered at the sound. Their leader hadn’t even formed a proper sentence! They easily translated the chirps, but they were more of a jumble of confused words than anything that made sense.

 

“Oliver.” Blue managed to shift back into English, tone stern. The Upgrade in question went ramrod straight. “Who is calling you?”

 

Shrugging, the yellow Google knit his brows. “I am not expecting a call.”

 

Blue approached the desk where all four cellphones were charging. Oliver’s phone screen was lit up with the incoming call. Caller ID said…Bing? Blue answered the call, raised the phone to his ear. “What is is, Bingiplier?”

 

Spluttering on the other end, and then a very annoyed, _“You’re not Ollie!”_

 

“This is Blue. Speak.”

 

“ _Hell nah, man! I’m talkin’ to Oliver, an’_ only _Oliver!”_

 

Blue could feel the stares of the Upgrades; caught Red and Green rolling their eyes. Those two had never liked Bing. Had always made that dislike more obvious than Blue would have liked; through cruel words from Green, harsh blows from Red, and anything between. Blue himself wasn’t the fondest of Bing either, but had always at least tried to treat him as one of them. He was an android, after all. And even if not the most mature, he was damn intelligent and could repair a CPU better and faster than the Upgrades could ever hope to.

 

“Is what you have to say important?”

 

“ _Well…yeah.”_

 

“Then you will speak to me, or I will hang up.” Grumbling. Cursing. Bing’s end then went quiet as if he was considering. “I do not have time for your trivialities, Bing. Speak.”

 

“ _Whatever, man,”_ the younger android grumbled.

 

Blue had to push down his annoyance with the default. If Bing deemed it important, he would humor the other android.

 

Bing began to speak. Annoyance faded. Was replaced by an uneasiness that settled in Blue’s core.

 

Others knew bout them? There were other Egos Outside? He brought up one called “Infelix.” A quick mental search, and Blue recognized the name as an Ego to Felix Kjellberg. A man named Garring who was told about the Egos who had been in this Infelix’s cafe. A Hunter; tracking them. Blue’s gaze moved to Green for but a moment. No. Not possible. Coincidence. “Hunter” was a common title among humans; was why Green’s human alias had been selected as such. Besides, Green couldn’t act to save his life; couldn’t keep a secret. He certainly couldn’t have been this “Hunter” with the shape he had previously been in.

 

Mind moving in a thousand directions at once, Blue listened to Bing’s words intently. Pieced them together. Took them apart again, only to rearrange them differently. He was working to find a bit of information Bing had missed, yet he couldn’t. He saw no patterns. No hidden meanings despite the fact Bing carefully relayed everything from the event. For once, he was as lost to the situation as the default. It made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

 

“Thank you, Bing.”

 

Before Blue could hang up, the other’s voice cut across the line loud enough to make the Upgrades wince. _“Whoa, wait up! That’s it?”_

 

“I have nothing else to speak to you about, Bing.”

 

“ _Fuckin’…_ I _did all the talkin’, man!”_

 

“Yes? I suppose I simply have nothing to add.” The annoyance was returning. What else could Bing _possibly_ want?

 

“Blue?” Blue eyes flashed toward yellow, and Oliver held out his hand. “Let me see what else he wants. You are getting irritated with each other.”

 

Obliging, Blue released the phone and Oliver pressed it to his own ear. He spoke with the other android for some time with the occasional grin or even laugh. What with all the focus on Red and Green’s parts, Oliver hadn’t noticed how much he missed the other android. Blue could see it in his eyes. He’d never approved of Oliver’s friendship with the default. Attachment was a triviality.

 

…Did that make Blue a hypocrite? It was clear to anyone who crossed his path that he was attached to the Upgrades, would be willing to die for them if it meant they would be safe, even if he’d never openly admit it.

 

Blue’s gaze flicked upward as the yellow Google said his name. “Bing is asking if we would like to stop by Mark’s.” Red opened his mouth to argue against it, but Oliver swiftly cut him off. “We need documentation. As it is, we have no means of creating it for ourselves. Mark has what we would need, and Bing has already created documentation for thirteen others. He could create it for the four of us faster than we could.”

 

“Ha!” Green was shaking his head. “What makes you think that? Useless default, that is all Bing is and all _it_ will ever be. We can create our own files.”

 

Ignoring the comment and Bing’s audiblegrowl on the other end of the line, Blue held his hand out to take the phone back. “As we currently have no means of attaining it,” he started, “I believe it would be beneficial to go to Mark’s for our documentation. It is only a matter of time before we need it for something.”

 

“ _Right,”_ said Bing. _“Mark’s outta a lot of the shit you’d need—I had to use a shit-load for everyone’s files. Still don’t have a medical file for Jameson… Have to get it to him later—”_

 

“Bing. I do not care.”

 

“ _Right. Sorry. How ‘bout we plan to get you dudes over there…after Christmas sound good? It’ll be easier to get a hold of the shit after the holiday.”_

 

Blue felt something knot in his chest; uneasiness, perhaps? Christmas? For years, the holiday had become a reminder for the Egos that they were forgotten by the fans. And yet again, it was right around the corner. How strange it would be.

 

“That should suffice,” Blue answered. “Oliver will be in contact.”

 

“ _Got it, man.”_ With that, Bing hung up.

 

Blue placed the phone back on its charger; face up, in a perfect line with the other three. To the far left, a platinum-colored cellphone with a simple, black leather business case. To its right, another platinum; that one with a camouflage Otter Box. Then was Oliver’s: Black phone, black case, with a smiley face on the back of said case. On the far right, a white phone with a red and black Otter Box.

 

All different, yet one in the same. All four screens perfectly clean; glass protectors lined up to the smallest percent of a degree in each corner. Not a chip or scratch on a single one. Perfect. Different, yet the same.

 

Blue turned to face his “brothers;” the Upgrades. He noted the same. The three of them stood tall and proud without really trying, their identical faces unmarred by imperfections. Bright, healthy eyes; neat hair; a strong glow to their emblems; powerful limbs supported by even more powerful, metal skeletons. Different, yet the same.


	28. Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, (Speech) Therapy Mention, Insults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can rip bookworm Anti who is TOTALLY an avid classic mystery fanboy out of my cold, dead hands. :I

**December 7** **th** **, 2030, 7:24 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

With his nose in a book, Anti didn’t realize Jameson had even woken up yet, let alone that he crossed through the hotel room. The glitch was so entranced by the words on the page that when his companion dropped something in the bathroom Anti about jumped out of his skin. He had his teeth bared, book forgotten as a growl rose in his throat and knife found its way into his hand.

 

…That “growl” really wasn’t as threatening as it used to be. It sounded almost ridiculous rather than the near-feral one he could give back in the Egos’ plane. Now, it sounded like a human doing a very poor impression of a big cat.

 

Clearly, Jameson found humor in it. He poked his head out of the bathroom, grinning wide and laughing silently. His aura wasn’t pulled as tightly around him as it usually was; tinging the doorway and parts of the wall gray as its Sepia “filter” danced about.

 

“ _Humble apologies, good lad!”_ a speech slide appearing above his head said. _“Didn’t intend to startle you!”_

 

Anti rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself.

 

Giving a silent chuckle as he fit his cap back on, hair styled to his liking, Jameson crossed back into the main part of the room. As the glitch reached for his book again, Jameson plucked it off the bed and made show of examining the cover.

 

“James—”

 

“ _Now, you’ve read this one a thousand times! Test the waters—there’s more authors than simply Doyle out there!”_

 

Grumbling, Anti swiped the hardcover back. He offered the other a harsh glare as he tucked it under the safety of his pillow. “ _I_ happen to _like_ Doyle,” he growled.

 

“ _Defensive over an author now, are we?”_ Jameson grinned, rolled his eyes good-naturedly, patted Anti on the shoulder even as the glitch bared teeth. _“Now, now. Why don’t we stop at a library today? Let you check out some other mysteries?”_ There, the glitch perked up! _“Ah-hah, there’s the interest!”_

 

Anti tried to look annoyed, but didn’t succeed all that well. “You’re a fuckin’ pain in the ass,” he grumbled even as he stood and pulled on his shoes.

 

Jameson’s response? Double birds.

 

In his attempt not to laugh, Anti choked. “Wh…” _Cough._ “What the fuck, James!”

 

The Ego in question just grinned and stifled his own silent laugh. Jameson wasn’t usually vulgar in _any_ way (had he ever made an inappropriate comment?), but it always caught the others off guard when he would decide to be on those rare occasions. When he decided to flip the bird, or let a cuss show up as a single, capitalized word on his slides, it was always perfectly timed.

 

Both Septics made sure they had their phones and wallets, then Anti gave his companion a pointed look. “James. Aura.”

 

Color returned to the quiet Ego; bright, near-teal hair standing out against his black bowler hat—he was the only Septic to maintain his original hair color, though Anti had yet to actually realize it. His vest was an attractive, yet not overwhelming, dark blue; with his dress shirt appearing an ironed, clean white beneath; bow tie lined perfectly, and even his mustache combed to a neat curl.

 

“You make me look like a fuckin’ slob,” Anti muttered as he glanced down at torn skinny jeans and an old T-shirt.

 

Shrugging, Jameson just slipped out the door. Anti made sure he had the room key (even though the door didn’t lock properly. God, they needed to tell someone about that…) and followed close behind. Their steps were muffled over the short carpet in the hall while on the stairs (Jameson didn’t trust the elevator), Anti’s steps thudded softly. He almost had to strain his ears to hear Jameson’s; even without his aura silencing him, the guy was as quiet as they came.

 

The younger Septic gave the woman at the desk a grin and tip of the hat, then grabbed Anti by the wrist to make him walk faster as they left the hotel. The glitch could only roll his eyes. It had become a common occurrence.

 

Over the weeks, the pair had gotten pretty used to traversing the crowded streets and sidewalks. They waited patiently for crosswalks, stayed on the right side of the sidewalks, and were careful to remain close to each other. LA was a huge city; they really didn’t feel like losing each other in it.

 

“ _Library,”_ Jameson signed. At least, that’s what Anti assumed he was _trying_ to sign. His fingers hadn’t quite been positioned right, but the younger Ego was pointing to a used-bookstore as soon as he’d given that sign.

 

“We need to work on your ASL,” the glitch muttered as he led the way into the store.

 

The pair spent a good hour in the store simply browsing. Anti managed to find two different _Sherlock Holmes_ books he hadn’t read yet, as well as one by some guy called Wilkie Collins from the 1800s. Anti had heard of him before, but never had the chance to read any of his books; now would be a good time to give them a try. Jameson would just roll his eyes and smirk all the while, earning a glare from the other; always the classic mysteries for that one, which was amusing since Anti didn’t seem the type to like that genre.

 

Jameson made a series of signs after the books were purchased that had Anti glaring at him. Then, he smirked lightly and Jameson cocked his head. When Anti stuck his tongue out in an oh-so-mature gesture, the younger Ego gave a hands-on-the-hips glare.

 

“Yeah, I know you can’t!” the glitch sneered. “S’why I did it!”

 

“Fu-cker.” The word was slurred and slow, spoken softly. The -ck was almost stuttered, held out longer than the other letters, as if Jameson was having trouble forming the sound.

 

Both Egos locked eyes. Then they both started laughing—Anti with snickers and Jameson a soft chuckle.

 

“My fuckin’ God, James… I forgot what ya sounded like.” Anti was shaking his head, shifting the bag of books to his other arm as they left the store. “Ya know it would be easier if you just spoke? Let’s face it: You suck at signin’.”

 

Jameson rolled his eyes. _“I can’t,”_ he signed. _“Hard to talk if I can’t make certain sounds.”_ He ended with a shrug and frown.

 

“Well there…oh, what the fuck is it called…” Anti had to think for a few moments; he’d heard of it, and Schneep had mentioned doing it to improve his English at one point… “Speech therapy, that’s it. I bet we can find a speech therapist for ya. I’m sure others’ve learned to talk okay without a tongue, right?”

 

Jameson shrugged yet again in response. _“How should I know?”_

 

Anti returned the gesture and the pair moved on without speaking for a short while. Then, “How’s coffee sound?”

 

“ _Sure.”_

 

They found a Star Bucks nearby and Anti placed their orders before going to sit with the younger Septic at the table they’d picked out. More silence as Jameson practiced some signs and Anti would correct whatever he got wrong with gestures from his own hands. That is, until Anti’s phone started buzzing from his pocket. Brows knit, he fished it out and checked the Caller ID. Marvin? “Marv’s callin’ me. Wanna grab our coffees when they’re done?” Jameson nodded, so Anti answered and pressed the device to his ear.

 

He heard a curse on the other side. _“Anti, control your glitches! Fuckin’-A that hurt my ear…”_

 

Anti went quiet, pale face going even more pallid if that was possible, as he listened to the magician speak once he’d recovered from the loudly popping static. He told Anti what Chase and Bing had told him. The same thing Bing had told Blue; the same thing Jackie was trying to get into contact with Silver over.

 

Really, his expression almost perfectly matched the one Marvin had made when he was told. He could feel Jameson’s curious stare, so cleared his throat and did his best to regain his composure. He’d tell the younger Ego back at the hotel.

 

“That’s fuckin’…”

 

“ _Right?”_ Marvin asked. There was a huff from the other end of the line. _“It’s fucked up. Just…I don’t know…keep an eye out, I guess? And make sure to avoid Infelix’s diner, or I’m sure he’ll tattle about you, too.”_

 

“Got it… Got it. Who else knows?”

 

“ _Chase and Bing. …Well, duh; they told me. They said they’d tell Mark and Amy. Everyone here in Brighton knows now. Don’t think Jackie’s been able to get Silver yet, but he’ll know soon enough. The Googles, and I’ll bet they told Dark. I’m not sure if any others know.”_

 

“Got it,” the glitch repeated.

 

“ _Also, I guess mostly everyone’s still in LA, so keep an eye out for them? And_ please _look out for Schneep?”_

 

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Anyone know what Henrik looks like?” He was careful to use the Ego’s first name; _Schneeplestein/Schneep_ was just way too freaking iconic. Someone in that coffee shop was bound to know who Schneep was (their creators once had millions of fans, after all) and then start asking unwanted questions. Or they’d just write Anti off as either crazy thinking the guy was real, or one of those creepy stalker-fans. None of those would be desirable regardless.

 

Marvin sighed. Anti didn’t have to see him to know the magician was shaking his head. _“There were a few texts his first couple days, and then the line went dead when he broke his phone. No phone calls so can’t tell you how he sounds, and he didn’t even send a fucking picture to any of us.”_

 

“Dammit…” Anti ran his fingers through his hair, and jumped when Jameson set their coffees on the table. When had he gotten up? “Look Marv, I …fuck. I’m getting another call. Call me later, all right?”

 

“ _Will do. Keep us updated.”_

 

As soon as Marvin hung up, Anti answered the next call. “What do you want?”

 

He could practically hear Bing rolling his eyes. _“Your docs’ve been done two days. How ‘bout you get your ass over to Mark’s to pick ‘em up? He wants his office back.”_

 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. I’ll call Amy later to pick us up. ‘Kay?”

 

“ _I don’t care when ya do, just do it soon! I’ve texted ya three times about it already!”_

 

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.”

 

“ _Fuck you, too!”_

 

“Jackass.” Anti didn’t seem to notice or care that a few of the shop’s patrons were now glaring at him. The parents behind them looked downright offended and leaned to their children to warn them to _never_ speak like that.

 

“ _Douche.”_

 

“Default!”

 

“ _Glitch Bitch!”_

 

The “insult battle” only ended when Jameson reached across the table, snatched Anti’s phone away, murmured a slurred “Sorry…” to Bing and hung up before the glitch could swipe his cell back.

 

“ _That was completely necessary,”_ Jameson signed with a very disapproving look.

 

Anti only huffed. “He fuckin’ started it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m pretty sure the explanation on it was enough, but just in case…  
> For clarification: My Jameson is _technically_ not mute. I came up with the headcanon before Jack announced that James was canonically mute, so I’m not going to change my headcanon since I’m so far into this series (and have just put a lot of though into my own HC as it is). My HC is that Jameson is actually missing part of his tongue, which makes it difficult for him to speak and he has to eat/drink a certain way so that he doesn’t choke or spill on himself. It also makes him slur his words really badly and speak slowly/stutter as he tries to form words correctly since he doesn’t exactly have a tongue to help with that. That’s why he doesn’t speak: It’s really difficult for him to form most words! When he DOES speak, it’s either to get someone’s attention (in which case he might shout out a “hey!” since that’s something he can easily say) or he’ll speak to make someone laugh due to how badly he’ll wind up saying the word. He said “fucker” aloud because he knew it would make Anti laugh; but also apologized to Bing aloud since he can't see James' hands in a phone call  
>  As for him being completely silent most of the time, that’s the effect of his aura: It silences anything it touches, including Jameson.
> 
> Also, I love having Anti and the androids freaking hate each other, so there’s that


	29. Never Cared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Insults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Shepherd is always difficult for me to write; especially from his own POV. Read this chapter over quite a few times because of it, but it was a good way to get away from the characters I'm more comfortable/confident with writing. :3

**December 10** **th** **, 2030, 8:40 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Shepherd had known something was up with Jacques for a long time, now. More than just a few years: Since nearly the beginning of Jacques’s existence, really. He couldn’t stand to be around his creator or even the other Septics, which was unusual for an Ego. At least as far as the hero was aware.

 

The superhero had always kept quiet about it—around the artist, at least. He’d tried to ask Jackie about it. Once. The Septic hadn’t said much; just shook his head and offered a “don’t ask” sort of look. He’d tried asking some of the other Septics, but the answer was more or less the same, usually. Shepherd hadn’t pressed the matter since, but had kept an eye on Jacques ever since. Sure, Jackie had always kind of hinted to Shepherd to watch the younger Ego since he tended to avoid the other Septics like the plague, but it was also in the Iplier’s nature.

 

As such, he’d eyed the bruises on Jacques’s wrist and jaw with a concerned gaze. He’d noticed them over a week ago, and they were now a pale yellowish color as they’d started to fade. Whenever Jacques had caught the hero or his girlfriend’s stares, he would just offer them a cold glare, pull his hood up, and roll his sleeves back down.

 

Shepherd had tried asking what had happened, who hurt him, but Jacques had just cursed (well, he assumed so; it had been in French) and thrown a pencil sharpener at him.

 

Roxanne had gone out for a few meal items they could store in the room’s mini-fridge, as well as some other necessities. She’d insisted on the two Egos staying behind, murmured to Shepherd how they needed to talk so she was giving them the space they needed to do so. Shepherd had been hesitant; especially after Jackie had called him and told him about some “Infelix” and “Garring” and “Hunter.” The way the Septic had relayed the information, it made Shepherd think something bad was going on.

 

Even so, Roxanne had very clearly insisted and then left after promising to send periodic texts.

 

Instead of talking, there was an awkward silence within the room. The only sound came from the artist as he made almost frantically fast sketches.

 

“Jacques—”

 

“Busy.”

 

Fingers attempting to comb through his hair, Shepherd only succeeded in pulling thick chunks free of their “knot.” Grumbling, he pulled the hair tie out and redid the high, somewhat messy bun. In the process of that, Jacques had brought his gaze up with a brow arched: An almost judgmental look plastered on his near-sickly face.

 

“Why not just cut it?”

 

Shepherd blinked. His hands dropped in his lap as soon as he was sure the tie was secured. “I…don’t want to?”

 

“Hmph… It looks stupid.”

 

Silence once more. Jacques kept flipping through the images he’d already sketched; adding to them, erasing, one of them he even tore out and crumpled in a ball before throwing it in the trashcan’s general direction. At least he’d _tried_ to make it in!

 

With a sigh, the superhero pushed himself off his bed and bent down to pick up the paper. He dropped it in the garbage without second thought.

 

“What are y—”

 

“Sh.” A pointed glare from tired eyes shut Shepherd up immediately. Jacques started pressing his fingers to the page. He looked like he was concentrating: Brows knit, lips pulled downward, eyes almost straining to look at the paper beneath his hand. It was clear on his expression that Jacques was getting increasingly irritated.

 

“…What’s wrong?”

 

The Septic said something in French that Shepherd couldn’t understand, then proceeded to smack the page and grumble to himself for a few moments. “I have not been able to use my abilities for…oh, fuck… Since I was first created? I-I do not remember how—”

 

“Do y’need help?”

 

Jacques snorted. “From you? No.”

 

Shepherd shook his head and sat himself back down. Still his concerned gaze flicked over Jacques: The kid looked so unhealthy. His pale skin looked an almost sickly gray and made yellowed bruises jump out that much more obviously. Bags under the eyes, greasy hair that clung to his face, bony hands and wrists that would probably end up with carpal tunnel sooner rather than later. He was scrawny now, and Shepherd was sure that if Jacques was to lift his shirt then his ribs would be visibly jutting out.

 

Dark brown eyes watched those knobby fingers try again and again to grab at the sketch on the page. Jacques’s own blue-gray eyes were bright with focus.

 

“Come on…” he murmured. He tried grabbing at the page again. “Come on…”

 

Shepherd perked up when the page lit up; that glow shifted through the primary colors as Jacques withdrew his hand from the paper. In that hand was now a wad of cash and the page was completely devoid of the sketch that had been on it previously. “I-I got it!”

 

Blinking slowly, the hero had to think for a few moments. He hadn’t known about _that_ ability! “Since when could you..?”

 

Jacques looked up and threw the cash at the Iplier. Shepherd caught it clumsily against his chest as he floundered for words. The artist simply shrugged. “Since I was created… But I started fading so quickly and…” he shook his head and grumbled, “I was too weak to do it after that. I have fucking been trying since we got out here but could not remember how! Lifelike quality, no?” He grinned a little at the last part; had he just made a joke? It was quick to fade, as they always were. Jacques just didn’t smile much.

 

“Huh. That’s…handy.”

 

…Wait. Did Jacques just counterfeit money? That’s what it was called, right: Counterfeit? Shepherd really didn’t know how that worked. He’d heard the term, but never really had to worry about it back home.

 

“I fucking _told you_ I could help,” the Septic accused. His eyes were narrowed and arms crossed now. “But you would not let me!”

 

Silence. When Jacques wasn’t belittling the other two, that seemed to have become the common theme.

 

Shepherd was wringing his hands together. His thumbs were tracing white scars on the tops, the knuckles; scars he shared with Jackieboy, once shared with his sidekick Ibis who had disappeared—likely faded—years ago. They were marks from years of fighting crime.

 

Despite them, he couldn’t even talk to a depressed…well, everyone saw Jacques as a kid. He wasn’t the youngest physically like Jameson, nor mentally like Yandere, but he was lost. Maybe even scared.

 

“What made you this way?” Shepherd finally asked. Jacques knit his brows as if he didn’t understand. The Iplier just gestured to the younger Ego. “This. What made ya so hateful? Why didn’t you start speaking up ‘til we were out here?”

 

Jacques looked taken aback. “I…” He used his pencil to scratch at his temple. “Why?”

 

“You destroyed Marv’s card soon as he gave it to ya. Won’t talk to your creator. The Septics don’t even want to be around you, kid.”

 

“How do you—”

 

“Jackie’s my best friend. Ya think he doesn’t tell me things?” Shepherd shook his head and sat up straighter. “What’s _wrong?”_

 

“I…” Jacques’s hands tightened on his pencil and notebook. He wouldn’t meet Shepherd’s eyes and instead stared at his lap. “Why do you fucking care? All I have fucking done is yell at you since we got here. You are not a goddamn therapist.”

 

“Jacques Septique.” The artist ducked his head. Shepherd’s voice was stern so rarely that it was easy for anyone to forget how it sounded that way. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nosy _bâtard,_ you do not care! You are just—”

 

The door opened to cut him off. Roxanne was glaring daggers at him as she closed it behind her. “That’s _enough,”_ she said; it was clear she must have been listening to at least part of the conversation before actually entering. She placed her bags of groceries on the desk with an angry _thud_ , then put her hands on her hips to look straight at the Septic. “Belittling Shepherd won’t get you anywhere, and I’m sick of it! So just spit it out, Jacques!”

 

The artist reeled away. Since when did they stand up for themselves? Even Shepherd look surprised: Unable to form words and just sort of…staring, at Roxanne.

 

Finally, the superhero managed, “Roxy…”

 

“No, Shep. I’m so sick of it.” She shook her head, gaze still set on the artist. “I come back to hear you insulting my boyfriend _again?_ He just wants to help you!”

 

Jacques scoffed and threw down his notebook. “I do not _need_ it! I do not need help from _anybody_!”

 

“Jacq—”

 

“No! Shut up! The fucking fans abandoned me! They would not—they _refused_ —to see me as…as one of you! I…I was fading, and they did not care!”

 

Shepherd was wringing his hands together again. Roxanne had seated herself next to him on their bed, shaking her head. She started, “Jacques, that’s not—”

 

“It _is_ true!” He dropped his pencil next to the book and scrunched his fingers into the bed sheet, knuckles turning white. “And none of you see it! They abandoned all of us! We are just characters to them, and without any new content they got sick of us. It is _simple_. I am just the unlucky bastard who fucking realized it first.”

 

Shepherd had his brows furrowed. “The fans moved on, and…and you’re acting like you’re the only one they forgot.”

 

The artist pounded his fist into the sheet, grumbling through gritted teeth. “You were not forgotten within a week, bastard. When I was created, Marvin only had one fucking video. The fans loved him, and he did not even have a name! I had seven videos— _seven!_ — _and_ a fucking name, and they still refused to see me!”

 

Shepherd…really didn’t know what to say. He’d never really thought of that. But if that was the case…how _had_ Jacques survived for so many years? Shepherd had seen art of him, here and there, but it was never enough attention for him to be able to survive off of. Shepherd wasn’t exactly the most popular, either, but he’d always gotten enough recognition not to fade away. Jacques, on the other hand, had just about always looked like any day could be his last. How _had_ he hung on for almost fifteen years?

 

“The fans,” Jacques continued, “never cared about us. Not really.”

 

“No, no, Jacques.” Shepherd wanted to get up and rest a hand on the younger Ego’s shoulder, but that didn’t seem like the best idea considering Jacques had a freshly sharpened pencil and bad temper. Gee, how had he hidden that temper so well over the years? Or was it just because he always wanted to be alone no one had really noticed he had it? “Who told ya they never cared?” The superhero had seen time and time again how the fans could get about the Egos.

 

Oof. Especially that one time Mark had joked about killing off Dark and Wilford… Will had about died of laughter when the fandom went up in flames over that one, while Dark had just rolled his eyes and continued with his day. Mark had made sure to double, then triple-check, that he’d informed the two about that one before hand. He _probably_ hadn’t felt like having his two most dangerous Egos try to kill him over a joke…

 

Still, it showed that the fans really had cared about the Egos. There had been fan-games made with and for them; fics, art, crafts, music!

 

Shepherd’s dark eyes that had been tracing the marks on his hands moved back to the artist. “Who told you they didn’t care?” he repeated.

 

Shaking his head, Jacques traced the fading bruise on his wrist. Then he huffed and glowered at the superhero. “No one needs to tell me. If you do not see it, live in your little fantasy, _stupide_. But I never fucking fell for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacques is good at blaming everyone BUT himself for his problems if you can’t tell already.  
> Little Jacques-ass :I


	30. Unneeded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Racism (hinted/brief), Insults, Self-Worth Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Skipping Ed’s again because the cowboy bitch isn’t up to much. Seriously, if he’s not interacting with other Egos, his chapters would get boring and repetitive pretty quickly because he’s doing the same things over. And over. And over. *eye twitch* Also, I want the reader to feel as distant from him as I can. :I
> 
> This chapter spans over the course of a few days, so keep that in mind. The date at the top is just the start of the chapter.

**December 7** **th** **, 2030, 9:07 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Hands wringing together and shoulders slumped, Schneep could really only watch his feet. Beneath him, the cot and warm blanket felt alien after little sleep, and any he _did_ have being in god-forsaken alleyways.

 

He’d been so tired when a plump woman in bright, scrub-like clothes had approached him. There had been a man with her who stayed a step behind her as she shook the doctor’s shoulder to wake him. His light sleep disturbed, Schneep had reeled away from her touch, backing into rough brick.

 

It had taken a lot of convincing before he’d hesitantly followed the pair.

 

That hadn’t even been twenty-four hours ago. And now, he found himself in a homeless shelter.

 

How the _hell_ had things spiraled to this? He didn’t want to be there, but at the same time where else could he go? He couldn’t contact anyone. Couldn’t even afford a hotel with vacancy because any he’d come across were too damn expensive.

 

The doctor dropped his head in his hands, fingers combing through the tangles in his hair—it wasn’t greasy anymore, thank goodness. His shower had been quick, a reserved “time slot” or whatever it had been called, but it was something.

 

“Mr. Dietrich?” A soft woman’s voice; Schneep didn’t react. “Mr. Dietrich?” Her voice was closer now. “Um…Henrik Dietrich?”

 

At that, Schneep blinked and glanced up. The woman was in front of him now. Dietrich. Human alias. Right. There was no way he’d give out “von Schneeplestein” to a human. God, that could end up a disaster…

 

“ _Ja?”_ A pause, then correction, “Yes?” He stood with the intention of speaking to her face-to-face. Unfortunately, the woman was petite, while he probably had a good six inches (15.24 cm) on his creator now; the top of her head barely reached his sternum.

 

The woman took a small step back, and Schneep couldn’t help a pang of guilt for making her uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and glanced to another area of the shelter, toward the same man who had been accompanying that other woman yesterday. Schneep frowned a little, brows furrowing. Did they think he was dangerous? Why would they think that?

 

“Max?” she said, catching the man’s attention. The man in question said a quick farewell to the elderly he’d been speaking with, then approached the pair.

 

“There a problem?” He looked Schneep up and down, raised a brow, rolled his eyes, then gave a pointed look toward the woman. “Look. If you’re gonna have a problem with every foreigner coming in here, volunteer elsewhere. Look at him! Guy doesn’t look like he’d hurt a fly.” The woman appeared thoroughly offended, but the man—Max, did she say?—continued without giving her a chance to speak. “Go help the elderlies, will you?” The man shook his head when she stormed off, grumbling to herself.

 

Schneep certainly felt…awkward. “Did I…do something wrong?”

 

“Nah. She’s just a jerk—everyone hates working with her. Anyway.” He outstretched a hand. When Schneep didn’t take it, he just let it drop to his side awkwardly. “Ah…Henrick Dietrich, right?” The doctor only nodded, so the man continued. “All right, so. When we get people in here, we try to get them back on their feet; jobs and such. You got anyone we can contact?”

 

“ _Nein.”_ Oh. That hurt a lot more than he’d thought it would… Schneeplestein had to force himself not to grimace as the word left him. It made it all seem far too real. He really _was_ alone.

 

Max just nodded. He didn’t look surprised. Was that common here?

 

The man crossed his arms then. Schneep noticed he was wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck; dark blue. It…looked like something Marvin would wear. “So,” the man continued, pulling Schneep from his thoughts, “since there’s no way I’m letting Bitch over there work with you, looks like you’re stuck with me helping you out.”

 

Those words found Schneep working with the man to find a “simple starter job,” as Max had put it. The Ego had to hide his irritation with that—he was a doctor, for God’s sake! He didn’t need something “simple”! He’d done some of the most complicated and stressful procedures out there! That didn’t matter our here, he reminded himself.

 

He spoke little and forced a polite smile to the customers as he bagged groceries for checkers, carted them out to vehicles. The grocer’s Max had sent him to was always busy, teeming with customers, and it left Schneeplestein with little time to start thinking while there. When he had too much time to think, the negatives came up, started drowning him. It became a distraction that didn’t offer enough time for the negatives to surface.

 

It was only part-time, unfortunately, and got old quickly. An hour or two a day; those hours spent in the blink of an eye before Max was there to show him back to the shelter. The doctor was already getting sick of it. It became less of a distraction and more of a nuisance within not even a week.

 

“Pointless,” Schneep was grumbling, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked alongside the man. Another turtleneck, but the collar on that one didn’t quite reach his jawline. It left a dark mark climbing up Max’s neck slightly visible. A tattoo, perhaps? If that was the case, would make sense Max dressed the way he did during his volunteer work.

 

“Pointless?” the man questioned. His brow was arched, eyes shining with question.

 

The doctor muttered to himself, nodding.

 

“Well. What are you good at?” When Schneep looked surprised, the man rolled his eyes. “Come on, Henrik. Can’t help you find a more fitting job unless you can answer that.”

 

A shake of the head and shrug of the shoulders. In the Egos’ plane, doctors like himself and Edward didn’t _need_ licenses. If they knew what they were doing, good for them! If they didn’t, well…sorry to the poor sap who went to a “doctor” with a medical emergency. It was different out here. God, if they tried to practice medicine now, they’d get arrested whether they were good at it or not… How did one even _get_ a license? Back home, he and Edward were both most definitely 100% Real Doctors. But how the hell could that be proved in the humans’ world?

 

Everything out here was so damn complicated. No doubt that would be, too.

 

Schneep jumped when a hand was suddenly grabbing the back of his sweatshirt and pulling him backward. “Whoa! Careful!” The owner of the hand—Max, thank goodness—urged.

 

The doctor blinked, heart pounding, as a truck roared past with horn blaring. God… If Max hadn’t been there, Schneeplestein would have ended up stepping out right in front of it. He was so distracted over what? A damn license, that’s what, and it nearly got him hit.

 

He could have been distracted over something useful, at least! Like _maybe_ how the hell he was going to get into contact with the others? But no, he was worried about a _license;_ something he could focus on figuring out later.

 

A hand on his elbow, and Schneep felt himself led back toward the shelter. How humiliating…

 

He shook Max’s hand away, determined to show the man he could walk on his own. He wasn’t helpless, goddammit!

 

As soon as they were there, the man was gone from the Ego’s side. Schneeplestein went to “his” cot and retrieved his scalpel and Marvin’s card: Expertly hidden in the blanket’s neat folds. The tool he put in his pocket before anyone could see it. He should _probably_ keep it on him. The card, he eyed with brows furrowing. He should—really, _really_ should—contact Marvin. The thought made his chest ache painfully.

 

He should. He _should_. Eyes clenching shut, he shoved the card in his pocket. He should, but _couldn’t._

 

Why in hell would any of them want to speak to him? His phone was broken. Maybe…maybe they thought he’d done it on purpose! Edward would never want to speak to him after their fights. Jack…not Jack, not Jack, _Seán—_ he’d be so disappointed in the doctor! Schneep could Feel that Marvin was sleeping better, and Chase was happier. They were getting along just fine.

 

It hurt to realize.

 

They didn’t need him.

 

They…didn’t need him.

 

There were plenty of doctors, and surgeons, and dentists—people who specialized in certain things rather than needing to scramble about their labs for something to fix a cavity one moment, and supplies for blood transfusions the next. People with licenses, actual schooling. People with better bedside manners than Edward, and people who actually knew how to measure anesthetics unlike Schneeplestein. Edward had no reason to use proper bedside manner with fellow Ipliers—at least that sometimes managed to get the point through their thick skulls! And one of Schneep’s abilities let him knock his patients out with a simple touch—it was so much more productive than anesthesia that could wear off sooner than intended!

 

The doctors out here were so much more qualified. More fitted to their jobs. Schneep couldn’t fit in among them, could he?

 

Big hands curled into fists; one white-knuckling the handle of his scalpel, and the other crumpling the card. The stiff edges bit into his hand before giving out: Bending, collapsing into a haphazard ball in his pocket. He felt a pang of guilt as he ran a thumb over it.

 

It’s not destroyed, he reminded himself. It hadn’t been shredded, or burned to ash. Just…just a little bent! He could still use it if he needed to!

 

God, would Marvin be pissed, though…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schneep, baby, they're so worried about you! ;;


	31. Coats Incorporated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Skaiaa for the ridiculousness that is this chapter~ :D  
> As I was writing this chapter I got an idea (you’ll see it relatively early) and I love it?? So thank you Skaiaa! Without what you’d said about the coat, this never could have happened. <3
> 
> Posting early because I may not be on a whole lot this weekend.

**December 7** **th** **, 2030, 3:00 PM**

**Breckenridge, Colorado**

 

How had it even happened? How had they _let_ it happen? _How?_

 

Dr. Iplier had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and grit his teeth. Wilford had done it. He’d actually fucking done it.

 

The doctor met eyes with Dark. The sneer was evident on the old Ego’s face. He then looked to the Host, whose head turned slightly in his direction. The blind Ego’s lips were pulled into a thin line. He didn’t seem to find Wilford’s antics amusing in the slightest; if anything, he appeared annoyed. Doc could certainly share that sentiment…

 

“Wilford,” Dark grit out. He was at the desk, hands folded over top of it, wringing cracking fingers together. Whatever he wanted so say never came. Dr. Iplier huffed—of course it didn’t. Even just _saying_ it would sound bizarre even for the Egos!

 

Doc shook his head, opened his mouth, closed it again when nothing came out. Running his fingers through his hair, he tried again. “Giving a…parka, of all things, consciousness is beyond childish, Wilford.” The Ego in question just grinned as if so proud of himself. The younger shook his head and grumbled before pressing on. “Yes, I understand Central and Incorporated were conscious, but a _coat?_ They were Figments, not a random clothing article you found on the discount rack! Its consciousness will fade just like it did with Central—like it will soon with Incorporated!”

 

More than one of the Ipliers flinched at that. The doctor wanted to regret his words, but they all knew it was true. Egos Incorporated, their guardian for so many years, would fade soon; just like the Septics’ building had. It would be left as an empty shell. A corpse. Because unlike the Egos, the buildings didn’t fade out completely; their walls were left standing to later fall apart, a deep ache in their foundations that would grow worse as they grew weaker, and then their consciousness would just be…gone. Like the buildings in the humans’ plane rather than with a life of their own.

 

Wilford shrugged a little, mustache twitching and parka draped over his arm. It looked a tad different now than when he had first purchased it; metal charms of varying colors draped from the pockets, and the material appeared stiffer than it had been. “C’mon, Doc~” he drawled. He hung the coat up with the others and crossed his arms. “There’s no harm in it!”

 

“Wilford. You gave a fucking _coat_ consciousness.” Dr. Iplier dragged his hands across his face. Why did he have to be with Wilford? Why couldn’t it have been one of the others to take his place?

 

…Scratch that. Dark and Host were about the only ones who could handle the madman. Didn’t mean it was any easier for the doctor to put up with him day in and day out, though.

 

Dark sat up in his seat, squeezing the knuckles of one hand until they gave a loud _crack!_ Dr. Iplier grimaced at the sound. That’s something he’d tried to tell Dark to quit years ago. Clearly, he didn’t obey “doctor’s orders” all that well.

 

“That is quite enough, Wilford,” the demonic Ego growled. “Remove its consciousness. It will draw enough attention as-is—we don’t need you talking with it, as well.”

 

Clinking metal from the parka’s charms bumping together drew four gazes toward it. It sounded like a wind chime, and Wilford was soon glaring in Dark’s direction. His arms tightened across his chest. “No.”

 

“Need I _burn_ it to get it through your thick skull?”

 

“Try it and I’ll fuckin’ shoot ya~” He said it with narrowed eyes and a wide grin.

 

“Wilford—”

 

“I said no and that’s that, Darkie.”

 

A soft huff of breath from the Host and what Dark could offer as a growl: A near-goofy sound from his throat now. He used to be able to literally growl. Now, it was just a poor attempt at one. Dr. Iplier had to stifle a laugh at the sound—lest he be the next on to get the wrath of Darkiplier.

 

With a shake of the head, Dr. Iplier placed a pacemaker (something he’d never had to use for any of the Egos, thank God) back in his medical bag. He twisted a strand of hair in nimble fingers. It was blonde now; he wasn’t a fan of it. Maybe he’d go ahead and pull a Septic; dye it dark brown or something at some point. He would have preferred to keep the dark hair the rest of the Ipliers had, but he’d also heard black dye ruined your hair. He would rather avoid that.

 

The doctor glanced up at Wilford. The old Ego hadn’t budged an inch away from the parka.

 

As much as an annoyance as this could become, Doc chose to speak up again. “Why did you decide to do it?”

 

A tilt of the head and wide grin. Wilford patted the coat’s sleeve as if it were an old friend before replying. There was something in his eyes that Doc couldn’t quite place. From his own bed, the Host tensed, head snapping up and eyeless gaze rested in Wilford’s direction.

 

“It’s Incorporated!” He looked so…proud of himself.

 

The look on Dark’s face as he whipped back around to face the madman matched the doctor’s almost exactly. The parka’s charms clicked together again, and Wilford’s smile grew.

 

Dr. Iplier stood, gaze shifting between Wilford and the coat. “How did…how is that possible, Wilford? Incorporated should have faded.”

 

“The Host would like to remind the doctor that fading takes time.” The addition makes the Ego in question jump. “Ego Central took some time to fade. It is entirely possible that Egos Incorporated has not yet faded.”

 

“But…” He looked back to the parka; its charms clinked again. The more it happened, the more the doctor admitted the pattern was familiar. Incorporated used to flicker its lights as a means of communicating, after all. “How…how could its conscious be moved into something else? And when the hell did you return to our plane?”

 

Wilford could only shrug. “Last night,” he responded. “You were all sleepin’!” He placed a hand—no, just the fingertips—on the sleeve of the coat, hand spread wide. Something they’d all seen Will, Marvin, and the Googles do against the walls of the buildings. They always said it made understanding them easier. “Took a lot, but I wanted t’try! I was in an’ out, and Inc was excited for th’ chance~”

 

Dark’s mouth twitched slightly. The Host was at a loss for words.

 

“It’s…” The doctor halted, rubbing at his chin. Green eyes were wide. “It’s really Incorporated?”

 

The madman nodded vigorously. “Says it’s good seeing ya better, Doc! Wants to know where th’ others are, though.”

 

“My God…” Dr. Iplier just shook his head for the umpteenth time that day. He didn’t bother answering Wilford. “You brought Incorporated back as a goddamned coat…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this particular fic, there hasn't been a whole lot on the buildings until now. However, if you want to get to know them better, I have some one-shots from their POV's, or just the Egos interacting with them! <3


	32. To the Mall or Bust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Bloody Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Just going to say that this fic was only supposed to be a few chapters long, and the Christmas chapters were supposed to happen end of December/beginning of January??? I originally only planned about ten chapters—fifteen at most—and now look where we are and not even halfway done! Yeah, the series definitely took on a life of its own since then!
> 
> Ahead of schedule! Actually finished this one a few days ago, and that gave me time to finish the prequel's first chapter. ;P

**December 12** **th** **, 2030, 11:52 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

With the Twins at work, Bing researching homeschooling, and Chase at the android’s side, the kids (Yan had accepted that as long as Kyler was called a kid, he would be, too, since they _did_ look the same age) were left with very little to do. They’d watched the news for a little bit, laughing when the Twins’ sections came up and laughed harder when even the cameraman snorted. They played off each other really well into their transitions between news and weather, and it was definitely amusing to watch. They’d been hired almost on the spot, and it was easy to see why—they were getting that station more views because they were far from boring! The station’s desperation for workers as it lost them to a better-paying, more popular one, had probably helped the Twins’ odds, but they sure seemed to enjoy it there.

 

When the Twins’ sections had ended to shift to an interview with some movie star (Yan could have _sworn_ she looked familiar—maybe she had an Ego who’d gone to his school?) then the kids had parted ways. Yan and Sophie to one of the bedrooms so the Ego could do her hair, and Kyler remaining in the living room to channel surf.

 

The pair was quiet for a while; Yan doing a fishtail braid in Sophie’s dark hair with practiced hands.

 

Then, from the female Figment: “Christmas is coming up, y’know.”

 

Yan’s hands paused as if he were searching for the right words, then he just shrugged and continued the fluid movements of nimble fingers. It was a while before he actually answered. “I guess it is.”

 

“This’ll be our first real one in _years!”_

 

The Ego grinned a little, tossing his head to get his bangs out of his eyes since his hands were occupied. He pulled a hair tie off his wrist and put it around the end of the braid, then made a very light tug to signify he was done. Sophie turned to face him, pulling her legs underneath her and just _beaming_ at him. “Ky and I really wanna get something nice for Dad!”

 

Yan laughed and shook his head. “How are you gonna do that? Bing’s the only one who can drive, but we don’t have a car yet! And with those Infelix, Hunter, and Garring guys, there’s no way Chase would let any of us just go out on our own.”

 

Sophie glanced toward the open door to the bedroom. She met eyes with her brother from the living room and waved him down with a huge grin.

 

“We wouldn’t be on our own!” she said as Kyler made his way into the room. “We wanna call Mark and Amy and go to a mall or something with them. If-if you came along, I bet Dad would let us go with them!”

 

Yan looked up at Kyler; his grin matched his sister’s. “C’mon, Yan— _please?_ We haven’t had a real Christmas in so long!”

 

“Okay, okay!” The Ego laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

 

When the trio had gone to Chase and Bing, asking if they could go, the two of them had simply shrugged. Chase made it _absolutely clear_ they were not to leave Mark and Amy’s side, absolutely _no weapons_ , phones on at all times. They’d bolted back to the siblings’ bedroom to call the couple once they agreed. After explaining the situation to Amy, they’d also agreed and would be on their way shortly.

 

The trio glanced at each other. “That was…easy,” Kyler said.

 

“It’s never like that in movies!” Sophie added.

 

All three cracked grins at that. Living with Egos did tend to be like movies or…well, fanfiction! Sometimes they would all get a good laugh when something happened that would coincide with something the fans had written.

 

Sophie perked up a little and giggled. The boys both raised their brows and tipped their heads. “Okay, okay, I just remembered something from _years_ ago!” Kyler raised both brows—it was almost funny how much he looked like Chase with that expression! “Well, do you remember some of the shapeshifting headcanons for Marv?”

 

That got Kyler laughing. “Oh, _man—_ I know exactly where this’s going!”

 

At the look Yan gave them, Sophie rolled her eyes. “This was when Ky and I were still really little, but Marv wanted to see if he actually _could_ shapeshift. He turned himself into a cat without a problem but…” she started giggling again and elbowed her brother. “You were older—you probably remember it better.”

 

“Okay, so. Marv turned himself into a cat. No problem there, right? When he tried to turn back, he couldn’t use his magic! He couldn’t talk to anyone, either—no one knew what was wrong! Schneeps had to call Wilford to come over and change him back! He hid in his room for, like, a week after that!”

 

“It was _so_ fucking funny!” Sophie added with a squeak.

 

“Whoa, hey! Language!” Chase’s voice cut in from the living room.

 

Yan snorted. “Hypocrite.” It wasn’t like Chase cussed at least once in every conversation or anything.

 

Conversation drifted from pointless topic to pointless topic before Chase called out, “Hey, Mark just pulled up!”

 

The trio jumped to their feet. Each grabbed their phones, wallets, and in Sophie’s case, purse; Yan’s, a drawstring backpack. Yandere and Kyler both bolted out the door, while the youngest went up behind Chase and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “We’ll be back before dinner,” she promised.

 

The Septic chuckled, android at his side copying the sound. He turned around in the kitchen chair he’d brought into the living room to put next to Bing and reached up to ruffle Sophie’s hair. “Braid again, huh?” he asked, then laughed. “S’a good thing Yan knows how to do that. Remember when I tried?”

 

Sophie giggled. “Yeah. The knot was so tight that Signe just had to cut my hair. Took forever to grow back out, Dad!”

 

Bing snorted, but was quick to cover his mouth with his free hand, the other scrolling through what had to be the twentieth page on homeschooling. “All right,” Chase said with another laugh, “go have fun. And behave!” Sophie leaned in for one more hug before skipping out the door and to the not-at-all suspicious van parked on the street. She slid into the back next to her brother, and Amy shut the door behind her.

 

“Mall?” Amy asked as she buckled herself in. The trio nodded.

 

Mark, glancing in the rearview, eyed Yandere. “You’re going to behave yourself, right? No stalking or whatever?”

 

Yan rolled his eyes and fingered the frilly material of his skirt. “No. …Hey, I haven’t done that for years anyway!”

 

“Just making sure.” The man turned back toward the road. “We’re going to be around humans, so you three need to watch what you say and do. Especially you, Yandere.”

 

“Yan,” Sophie correct with a glare. It was brief, but there. “He prefers “Yan” y’know.”

 

Mark blinked, then nodded. “All right. Uh, sorry.”

 

The kids all snickered at that, and the ride to one of the city’smalls was mostly quiet. As was the park-job and jog inside to beat a tour bus filled with what had to be out-of-staters. A roller-skater zipped by, dancing through the crowd with practiced ease, and into the main entrance. A security guard just rolled his eyes at the younger-looking man like it was a common occurrence. Sophie couldn’t help but giggle. While she was physically about eleven now, she still had the mind of a seven- or eight-year-old, after all.

 

“Have you ever been to a mall?” Amy asked as they made their way leisurely through the first floor.

 

Yan and Kyler just nodded, while Sophie was the one to pipe up. “Yeah! Dad’s taken me and Ky to the one in Jackie’s city a lot!”

 

Kyler gave her a pointed look as he elbowed his sister in the side. “Keep your voice down.”

 

The woman nodded. Her fingers were twined with Mark’s and she smiled at the kids. “What do you plan on getting Chase?”

 

“Well, Dad forgot his skateboard back home, so we were kinda wanting to get him a new one.” Kyler grinned at that. “Bi—ah, Ben’s been wanting to roller-blade again for a while, so we’d like to get some of them for him. An’ then ties for the Twins.”

 

Brow arched and a chuckle leaving him, Mark said, “I thought you were just getting something for Chase?”

 

A scoff from Sophie. “We can’t _just_ get Dad a present! It’s gonna be Christmas!”

 

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but both humans wound up scrambling backward when Kyler and another man were sent sprawling across the floor—both yelping at the impact. The man was cursing and muttering apologies, eyebrows scrunched behind dark sunglasses, while Kyler glared harshly and licked his upper lip as he sat up. His nose was bleeding!

 

A thickset security guard rushed to the group with a hard scowl across his face; a second one lingered nearby with arms crossed disapprovingly. “Goddammit, Beau…” the big man growled. He knelt first next to Kyler to help the kid up, glancing only briefly at the blood dripping from his nose. The guard pulled a travel-size tissue pack from his pocket and yanked out a few to pass to the Brody, then reached down to grab the other man—Beau, apparently—by the bicep and drag him up to his feet.

 

“Wasn’t my fault, Michael,” the other man grumbled. “Some idiot spilled a drink and I couldn’t get traction.”

 

It wasn’t until he’d said that that the group noticed his feet were adorned with roller-skates. He must have been the skater from earlier, they assumed.

 

The security guard shook his head and then glanced back at Kyler. “You all right, kid?” A nod was the only answer as he kept the tissues pressed to his nose. “If you’d like to follow me? I can have you write up a rep—”

 

“That won’t be necessary; there were no serious injuries,” Mark cut in.

 

The guard blinked at the ex-YouTuber as if seeing him for the first time. Both he and the skater tensed slightly.

 

“…Suit yourself,” the guard finally said. He nudged Beau lightly, and the duo parted from the larger group, toward the second security guard who had been lingering through the entire ordeal. His foot was tapping and he shook his head at the skater.

 

Mark and Amy exchanged a glance, then looked toward the Ego, and finally the Brody kids.

 

“That was…odd,” the woman ventured.

 

The others could only offer identical nods of agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter I realized I’ve had very little interaction between Chase and his kids! D: Will be working on that for later chapters.


	33. Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so finals are coming up next week, then I'll be graduating from high school! <3 Because of that, unfortunately, I'm not going to have as much time to work on chapters this weekend, so I'm going to post this now before my schedule gets hectic.
> 
> Side Note: This chapter is happening at the same time as the end of Schneep’s last one.

**December 14** **th** **, 2030, 3:02 PM**

**Brighton, England**

 

 

Head ducked and eyes on the floor, Marvin followed Jackie and Signe into the house; each of them carrying a bag of groceries. As soon as the magician had set his own bag on the table, he waved a hand through the air and his mask appeared in it after a moment. He visibly relaxed as he slipped it on; immediately perking up and grinning.

 

Jackie chuckled and stood on his toes in order to ruffle the younger Ego’s dark hair. In retaliation, the much taller Marvin spun Jackie around, pulled him backward, and proceeded to rest his chin on the superhero’s head, arms around Jackie’s shoulders; thoroughly trapping him there. It brought a laugh from the woman in front of them. Seán peered in from the living room, a grin crossing his face. King was probably up on the roof, while Bim had dozed off in a guest room.

 

“Looks like you’ve been sleepin’ better, Marv,” he noted as he entered, leaning against the wall nearest the entryway.

 

The magician nodded in affirmative then laughed when Jackie ducked out of his grasp. “Yeah. Better than I have in a long time.” He stretched a little, then rested his hands on his hips. “You been in contact with any of the others?”

 

A shake of the head answered Marvin. “Just you guys an’ Mark,” the Irishman said. “What about you two? I’m gettin’ worried about them.”

 

“Anti and Chase, mainly,” Marvin answered. “And Jackie’s been keepin’ in touch with Silver. That’s…really about it. No way in hell Jacques would talk to any of us, you know how much James hates texting, and Schneep’s still MIA.” The magician shrugged and then let his shoulders sag. Schneep was still missing. God… Marvin _had_ to Track him before something bad happened to the doctor.

 

Seán could only offer a sigh, while Signe and Jackie lowered their gazes to the floor.

 

“We’ll…we’ll find ‘im,” the magician assured. “We _have_ to. I just need t—” Marvin cut himself off with a sharp gasp that startled the other three. His knees buckled beneath him, and Jackie barely managed to catch him before his head hit the table.

 

“Marv? Hey, hey—what’s the matter?” the superhero demanded with brows furrowing.

 

Signe, who was closer to the pair than the other human, helped Jackie guide the magician into a chair. By the time Seán reached the table, Marvin had snapped his fingers and let a deck of cards spread out on the flat surface in front of him. His breathing was heavy, and he was looking over them all frantically.

 

They were the other Egos’ cards. Four grayed out, with the rest bright and colorful. Marvin was brushing his fingers over each of the ones with color, shaking his head each time and moving to the next.

 

When his hand came to a rest, it stayed on none other than Schneeplestein’s. His brows furrowed behind his mask, and he struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. The colors on that card’s symbols began shifting even before Marvin could open his mouth. “Wh…what did you do, Schneep..?”

 

“Marv? What’s the matter?” Jackie asked. He stood behind the magician and placed a cautious hand on Marvin’s shoulder.

 

Seán and Signe were looking over the cards, and the creator had his brow furrowed when his gaze stopped on the offending card. One of the symbols in the corner stopped shifting and settled on an over-bright version of itself, and the opposite was muted as Marvin pulled his hand away. “Did… Did Henrik destroy his card?” The man immediately shook his head; destroying the cards turned the ones Marvin had gray. He knew that. “Is…is he—”

 

“H-he’s not dead, no.” Without looking at his creator, Marvin pulled another card from thin air and showed it to the man. “This is what they look like when the Ego passes. This…this is somethin’ else.”

 

Seán didn’t recognize the Ego on the card, but judging by the paint palettes in the corners he could assume it was Mark’s artistic Ego. Artiplier, was it? He’d never met the guy; like Jacques, Artie hadn’t exactly been the most social—though in his case, it was more out of social awkwardness. Unlike the four grayed cards, the colors on Artie’s were muted, and a transparent “X” crossed from corner-to-corner. Artie had faded around fourteen years ago.

 

Neither Jackie nor Marvin had so much as glanced at that card’s face before it disappeared once more. The rest of the cards, save Schneep’s, followed suit. Schneep’s, the magician grabbed with both hands.

 

“I-I’m gonna try an’ get a lock on his location.”

 

Jackie perked up at that, squeezing Marvin’s shoulder to get his attention. “Y’don’t have the—”

 

“I don’t _care,_ Jackie! M-my cards have never done _this,_ ” he waved it in the superhero’s face, “so I-I need to know if he’s safe! If I don’t have the energy, I’ll just pass out—”

 

“Or it could fucking _kill you,_ Marv!”

 

“I need to _try!_ ” He smacked Jackie’s hand away from himself, teeth gritting together. “Leave me the fuck alone. Let me _help_ for once!”

 

The humans glanced at each other, then the superhero. Jackie looked taken aback; hand pulled away and close to his chest as if the magician had burned it, knuckles already red from the contact. Marvin didn’t so much as glance Jackie’s way.

 

He simply raised his hands, card floating between them, and shut his eyes. His aura made his hands glow; that same glow spilling from closed eyes like tears, only to swirl around his head before dissipating. The longer he sat there, the more agitated his expression grew and pallid his face became. His brows scrunched up, card actually sparking, before he cursed. “I can’t get a lock on him! He…he-he did something to his card, and I can’t Track it!”

 

No one else spoke. Marvin’s hands found his hair and he tugged at it; swearing and pleading, calling himself about every name imaginable. “I…I should’ve tried sooner… I’m such a fuckin’ idiot! Schneep’s… I…” He dropped his head in his hands, card falling to the table as the magic dissipated.

 

Seán was the first to move; stepping forward to rest a hand on the magician’s shoulder. “Hey. Marv—”

 

“D-don’t. If we…if we never find ‘im, it’ll be _my_ fault, Seán! I…” he shook the hand off his shoulder without looking up, “I should’ve Tracked ‘im soon as we couldn’t get through his phone.” He slipped his mask off, throwing it on the table, before resting his forehead on the cool wood. He wrapped his arms around his head while his shoulders sagged. “H-he can’t survive on his own. At least n-not with his sanity in check. A-and now he’s already been out there a few weeks!”

 

A pause from the man. Seán’s brows furrowed and he asked, “What do you mean, “his sanity”?”

 

Jackie crossed his arms tightly over his chest and spoke for the first time in a while. “Have you been talking with Schneeps at all anymore?” he accused. “’Cause if you were, you’d know about his little abandonment issue that _you_ incited when you fuckin’ quit YouTube and left us to fade.” There was venom to his words; a tone that seemed alien to the superhero’s kindhearted nature. He was glaring daggers at his creator; tension coming to his shoulders.

 

Seán couldn’t help but take a step away from the Ego. “Jackie. What’re you—”

 

Jackie sliced his hand through the air, so the human clamped his mouth shut. “You…you used to get pissed with Mark when he wouldn’t pay attention to what was goin’ on with his Egos. And if I do recall, when he quit recording _you_ told him it would kill the Ipliers. Look in a _fucking_ mirror, Jack. It was barely four years later you pulled the exact same stunt. You _abandoned_ us! Left us to die!”

 

“I… Jackie, I never meant—” Another step back; right into Signe. None of them had noticed she’d moved until she twined her fingers with Seán’s as a means of grounding him. The man’s eyes were wet with tears he didn’t bother blinking away; he was too shocked by Jackie’s words—the _anger_ in them—that he just didn’t care at that moment.

 

“Jackie…” Marvin had turned around in his chair and lightly grabbed the superhero’s wrist. “That’s enough. H-he gets it. We promised we wouldn’t blame him or Mark, remember?” He stood, guiding Jackie into the chair he’d occupied only moments before. “Deep breaths, okay? M’sorry for startin’ this, it’s just…” Marvin shook his head, ran his fingers through Jackie’s hair in a comforting way, then turned to Seán.

 

The man was tense, and Marvin could see a few tears had slipped free. “You guys’re real pissed with us, aren’t you?” he asked. Usually when the man’s voice cracked the Septics would laugh. Now it just broke Marvin’s heart.

 

“Some of us, yeah,” he admitted in almost a whisper. Marvin stepped toward his creator, a handkerchief appearing in his hand with a flick of the wrist. As the magician moved closer, Signe stepped away to give them space and instead went to kneel by Jackie’s side to speak softly to the hero. “S’just hard. Y’know?” Marvin asked as he brought the cloth up to wipe away the man’s tears.

 

 

Seán wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Y’know we never meant to hurt you, right?” Marvin nodded in response. “We couldn’t have _afforded_ to keep doin’ it as a job with how many viewers we were losin’. We _never_ meant for it to hurt you guys. We weren’t completely thinkin’, I guess…”

 

Marvin shrugged. He let the handkerchief disappear, then rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Some…some of ‘em might never forgive you two. You gotta know that. Understand it and give ‘em space if they do feel that way. I’m not sayin’ it to guilt you, but you need to remember that and not act like you’ve got no clue why they’re ticked. It’ll just cause more problems.”

 

“Does… Do you an’ Jackie feel that way?”

 

A shake of the head. “No. Well…I dunno?—we probably all feel it a little, I guess. But Jackie only said that ‘cause we never fight and I _actually_ yelled at him. ‘Stead of lashing out at me over it, well,” Marvin gestured at his creator. He turned away and met eyes with the superhero; tipping his head in invitation to come over. Jackie did. Of course he did: Marvin was the one inviting him.

 

“M’sorry, Marv.”

 

“S-so am I, but it’s not me _you_ should say that to.”

 

With his head still low, Jackie’s eyes were all that looked up toward his creator. The superhero looked like a kicked puppy with that expression, so Seán just didn’t have the heart to pull away when Jackie’s arms were suddenly around him—even if just a few minutes ago that same Ego had been berating him. “M’sorry… I never should’ve said that. M’sorry.” The hero pressed his face to Seán’s neck; the man slowly carding his fingers through Jackie’s hair. “M’sorry. I just want Schneeps back…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn’t think Schneep crumpling his card would have an actual effect on anything, did ya?
> 
> So this chapter really hurt to write??? Almost worse than Schneep's breakdown chapter? Jack sure as hell got a slap in the face, though. If he hadn't known how the Egos felt before, he sure does now.


	34. Lighten Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought with me soooo freaking much- I was almost afraid it would be put out late because of that. Those two just didn’t want to cooperate! I also had graduation today, so I’ve been pretty busy getting ready for that and studying for my Wednesday/Thursday finals last week. BUT done with high school and that’s such an awesome feeling- just! Ahhh! <3

**December 18** **th** **, 2030, 3:44 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

“Oliver. We have tasks to attend to.”

 

“Oh, come on, Hunter! All you do is work. Even _Blue_ told you to take a break.”

 

Green hunched his shoulders, hands buried in the pockets of his “borrowed” sweater. It was an obnoxious shade of orange. Of course it was. All Bing, the previous owner, knew was obnoxious. At least the sunglasses looked relatively normal. “I understand that,” he started, eyeing a couple they walked past, “but I would much prefer sleep as a “break” than some walk. We are wasting time, Oliver.”

 

Oliver tsked, though still grinned. His sweatshirt was white with old oil stains on the ends of the sleeves and chest. From one of Bing’s (many) failed skateboard tricks, Green thought with a poorly contained sneer. “You are such a grouch,” the yellow Google laughed, seemingly ignoring the other’s scornful expression.

 

A sigh. There was no getting out of this. If he returned to the hotel (they had changed hotels after repairs so employees didn’t get suspicious from sudden lack of crutches and “oxygen” masks) then Blue would have sent him right back out. And there was no way he was going to leave Oliver on his own.

 

“Come _on!”_

 

“…Fine.”

 

Green forced himself to swallow his irritation when the other Upgrade grabbed his sleeve and dragged him down yet another street. Thank God for Google Maps, he thought with a huff. With the random route Oliver was taking, they would have been lost in minutes if the GPS wasn’t built right into their CPUs.

 

“Where are you in _such_ a hurry to reach?”

 

“…I don’t know?” The green Google let out his umpteenth sigh, which just made Oliver laugh. “Oh, lighten up. Is it _that_ bad being with me?” He gave the other Upgrade what had to be a pointed look from behind dark sunglasses.

 

Green let out a soft trill, then cleared his throat and let his eyes dart about. No humans had noticed, and at least it sounded like it could have been from a phone. He repeated that trill, but in English, “Of course not.” Arms crossing over his chest, Green turned his head to the other so they could meet each others’ veiled eyes about as well as possible. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

 

Oliver shrugged. “Don’t know, I guess.” Green could only shake his head in response.

 

If not for the fact it was built right into his head, Green would have lost track of how much time the pair wasted wandered through the streets of Los Angeles. Oliver was like a child: Running from one thing to another, a grin on his face, and curiosity that could rival any of the other Egos’. Green wanted to find it annoying. He really did. But Oliver was and would always be Oliver. When it was him, it was hard to see it as annoying. In a way, that personality was…endearing. Green would never admit it, of course. Nor would he ever use the term "brothers" for the other two Upgrades and Blue. Blue had taught them attachment was weakness. Useless. A triviality they didn't have time for.

 

Even so, there was a fondness for each other all four of them had whether they were willing to admit it or not. That same fondness had a tiny smile curling the edge of Green's lip at the awe in Oliver's face as he peered through a store window. It was clear by the lights, decorations, and trees adorning the streets and stores that Christmas was just around the corner. A week away, to be exact.

 

Green had never really seen the wonder in the holiday, though Oliver used to love it before...well. They were no longer in need to worry about fading, so best to leave that part of their past behind.

 

"You think Blue will let us relax on Christmas? You know, give us the day off?" Oliver asked, successfully pulling Green from his thoughts. His expression was hopeful as he looked back at the other Upgrade.

 

The other shrugged, once again straight-faced. "Doubtful. Christmas is just another day in the year. I see no reasoning behind taking a break on it other than using it as an excuse to be lazy."

 

Oliver's shoulders slumped. "...Right."

 

Green placed a hand on the other's shoulder. It was a brief gesture, but it had Oliver grinning again. Green never would understand why Oliver took such comfort in physical contact, but at least it was something simple. "How are the glasses coming along?" he asked as the pair continued their trek. He wasn't even going to bother asking where they were going anymore.

 

"Good! I've got Blue and yours almost done!" He looked so proud of himself, but then frowned. "Jasper and mine aren't cooperating as well, though. Need to do some more tweaking to figure out the right settings." Oliver's voice dipped into such a low, whirring chirp, that Green had to turn up his audial settings just to hear him (warrenting humans couldn't hear him, surely), _"Human technology is really...obsolete. Kind of annoying to work with."_

 

Green could only huff in agreement, tuning his audios back to their regular settings. "Obsolete seems a vast understatement."

 

That got a laugh out of the yellow Google. "Right?"

 

For a while, there was a companionable silence between them. Then buildings and crowds thinned, overtaken by lush grass, and it was getting dark by that point. Green found his brows scrunching.

 

"Where are we?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. Due to Maps, Green knew exactly where they were.

 

Being Oliver, the yellow Google answered anyway with a wide grin, "Hilltop Park!"

 

Green sighed. "We are a very long way from the hotel. You are aware of that?"

 

"Yep!"

 

"You are also aware Blue wants us back by nine o'clock?"

 

Even if he couldn't _see_ Oliver's eyes, Green was almost positive they were being rolled at him. "Yes, I am, and it's not even five, yet. Lighten up a little."

 

Green wasn't exactly given time to answer as his sleeve was grabbed yet again and he was dragged up a hill and toward a park bench. He would never admit that he stumbled a little on the way up, tripping over his own feet as he tried to keep pace with Oliver while being pulled along. With the way Oliver acted, it was sometimes easy to forget he was just as powerful as the other three: Nearly pulling Green right off his feet at least once on the way up. It really didn't help Green's barely visible, yet still irritating as all hell, struggle.

 

When they reached the hilltop, Oliver placed his hands on the back of the bench.

 

"Oliver, there is too much light pollution to see the stars." Green shook his head slightly as he took the spot next to the other Upgrade. It was about as dark as it would get now, and the few humans who had dwindled in the park upon their arrival disappeared. Green took it as an opportunity to push his sunglasses up, bright eyes cutting through the minimal darkness as he looked up to the starless sky. Light pollution was an ugly thing, he decided with a distasteful curl of the lips.

 

Initially, all he received was a shrug in response. Then, "I know, but look." Oliver gestered out at the city below.

 

It was like a reverse sky. Rather than stars in the sky, they littered the ground below in reds and blues and whites. Green found his head tipping slightly. Even with his advanced eyesight, he wasn't sure he could count all of them, nor the number of buildings they all belonged to.

 

"How did you find out about this?" he asked without actually turning to Oliver.

 

"Research!" The yellow Google grinned. "I know "views" aren't really your "thing," but it's away from people, work, and I was hoping you would relax a little when you saw it?" The hope in Oliver's voice, the way his brows arched high above his sunglasses, had Green offering a relenting sigh. "Baby brother" was honestly the best term to use for Oliver (again, the other Googles would _never_ admit it!), even if _technically_ Green was youngest by mere moments. As "baby brother," he also had an annoying tendency to get things to go how he wanted.

 

Had he been Red, he would have given Oliver an unnecessarily rough hair-ruffle or cuff to the back of the head. ...Well, probably both, actually. But, much like Blue would, Green went for the shoulder-grasp instead. He wasn't really sure how it was possible, but Oliver's grin seemed to grow. He sure liked smiling. Why was that?

 

"Though the lack of stars is...unnerving," Green started, "I will admit the city is impressive. Quite the stunning view from this perspective."

 

Green crossed his arms over the back of the park bench and eased his military-inspired stance into a more relaxed one. He would never admit how good it felt to let the tension leave his back and shoulders as he shifted his weight to put most of it on the backrest. At his side, Oliver was practically beaming with pride at his accomplishment.

 

"See? It's not bad to relax a little."

 

Green slipped his sunglasses back on before returning to his previous, practically slouching, position. "I suppose it is good in moderation."

 

A sharp elbow struck him in what would have been the ribs in someone organic. "Oh, lighten up," Oliver laughed. "You _especially_ need to relax more often."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt I needed a bonding chapter for Oliver and Green to show Green isn't a TOTAL jackass. <3  
> Seriously, the Googles are t̕ri҉cky͏ for me but I adore wriṱi͙̳͈̦ng them̴͚̞̬! <3 Hope this chaa̴̘̝͎̰a̴̻̪͖͔̥̺͜ą͉͇̳̦͉̮̹̥͝a͈̜̣͖̝̩̱̳a̳̣̺͕̰̤̪̬p͏̧̪͇̭t̶҉̹̜e͏̴̤̫͓̰̤͎̞̲r̝̗̭̰̭͜͠ didn't seem f̧̢̻͉̥͙͇o͏̡̼̖̦̳̞r̛҉̝̻̩̪̩͖c̼͚͎̼͡-͕̠͓̗-̩̗̼-̶̛̮̮̯̫̗̟̣̳͠-̛̣͎̙͙-͇͙̣̯̩̺̯͡
> 
> E̸̴̥̠͖̬̻͊̓̈͘Rͫ̾̀̚҉̵̢͍͚̥̪͓̟̼R̪̩̗ͣ̿̐ͭ̓ͩͯ̽́0̴͕͎͓̇̇̾́̏̈͒̚͟R̬͖̽ͨͯ͌̓ͫ͂ͩ̓  
> -̫̘̝̗͍̥̽-̠̥̘͔̫ͣͧ͂F̽i̪̭͖̜͕̩͇ͣ̋̐ͤ̀̈̇lͅë͔̼̭̞́͗̃̐͌ͅ ̿C͇͔̲̣o̲̯̱͎͒͌r̩̳͉̭̜͒ͫ̀̑r̗̝̠̠͚͉͖͆̈́͌ͥ̌ͮu̼͕͙̞̘ͅp͔̘̮̪͇̉ͅt̻̲̗͓͒ͯͧ̄̈́.̯̳̺͍̬͙̤̾͑͆̾ͨ̚  
> -͖̤͍͓̫̉̀͛̊͢-̒͑͞-̧̲͎͓ͥ̈́̊̊-̳̩̽ͤ̅̌͡R͙̩̹̻̜̠̘e̘̭̯͚̳̟̍̇̍̐ro͔̝͙̺̭̍ͯ̌ͣͨu͚̰t̛̲̏͂̔i̛͈̦͙̮ͬ̋ͮ̓ͫ̽ṋ̨̻̠̖̥ͤ͋͒̌̒ͯ̈́ͅg̱̹̫͇̤̩̹ͣͯ̈́ ̒D̓̈̏a̟͉̩̖ͪͫ̐͆̈́̚ͅt̵͔̍̄ă̸̙̘̗̫̞̭͊͗͋̇ͅ:̳ͬͥ̒̓ͤ̂̊ ̼͕B̨̺͓̩̯̈́̉̅ͅ-̟̰̍ͣ̽̓ͣBͬ-̦̰̻̞̙̆̉ͯͥ̄ͩͬŠ͚̊̅̒͟S̨̮͇̘̼̤̰̻͒͌̽̀̋ͩS̩̊ͬ͘S̟͙͎͚̈́͘-ͪ̑͐̂̓-̼̯͉̦͚͕̅ͧͯ̂́-̷͔̆̎̽ͣ̈́̓e̢ͪrͩ͏̤͉̯̼͍͙͖ro̳̭̼̖̍̑ͥͫ̒̂͛r̵ͨ͗̔ͥ  
> ͕̩ͦͮͥ-ͪͨ̎̃̐̋ͮ̕-̨̮ͧͬ-̳͇̙̩̯͇ͩͯͯ-̗̞ͥͬ̉̌̍̆̈́͜F̢̯͙̼̻̺̊̃i̴͚̲̠̽̾ḷ̺͚̱̞̭̟̍͗̊e̳̝̐̄ ̶̪̪͙̅ͥ͌N̴͕̟̈o͘t̷̟ ͣ̏̓̊F̊̆͢ö̴̜͕̗͔͖̲̯́u͌ǹ̝̞̣͓̪̍͌̾ͤͬd͂͒̓̅  
> ́̕R̭̘̤͐ë̟́̏̕r̭̩̓͆͛̃ͭ́͡oͧ̉̆͂͐ͫu̵̳̠̭͕ͭͩͬ̀̂ͤt̨̻͇̗̬̘̉̍̽i̡͓̬̬̩̰̙̲̅͋̈́n̳̭̝͔̥̞̜g̺̃͘
> 
> -̷̧͇̥̞̱͘͡-̡̮̪̱̣̻̖̭̗̝͈̪͕̞̳̟͘͠ͅͅ-̴̴͚̘͔̤̣̣͕͇͟͞ͅ-͢͏̡̻̤͇͇̠͚͡N̷̴̹̲̗͈̣̭̲͓̝̜̰̤̮͔̲e͠҉̳̘̥͍ͅw̸̸̧͎̺̘̣͖͍͔̟͎̕͠ ̯̺̩̬̣̯̝̝̠̻̭̹̙̗̫̤͘͢͝A͜͏̗̮͖̘̞u̶̞̞̹͖̗̺͘͟͜d̶̢͏̘̟̕ͅi̢̯̻̙̯͡͝͝͞o̡͜͏͉̯̟͚̱̱͔͉̻̼̗͈̦͔̭̲ ҉̷̵͔̞̳̱̮̦̣̤̥̫̰͈̪͜D̡̢̹͎͚͔̗̜̱̮̦̗͞i͝҉̰͉͈͓s̷̰̪̱̖̭̜̮̲͔̠͖̯̦̺̖̠͇̠̲͢͡͝c̡͏̙͓͕̯̝̩̹͖̫̝̮̟̫̟o͉̹͉̜͉̹̕͞v̴̶̡̢͙̲͕̱̮̫̼̤̣̲͉̝̟̤ͅe͏̝̗̙͘͡͠r͏̶̝͚̥̖̩̤̰̭̳͕͓͙̱̱͇̰̭ͅȩ̶̖̠͙̰̪̦͖̰̠̺͙̩̩̪͘͞d̶̸̗̗̲͚̟͇̘͢  
> ͏̵̡̛҉̘̲̠̦͖̺͓̮̜͓̖̜̼̦̦̥̦-̸̳͙̘͇̳̲͘͡ͅS̨̢̟̹̭̣̥͙͍͘͢͡o̶҉̖͈̜͇͈̱̳͖̳̰̣̲̖̪͍̟̖͕ͅu҉͚͇̭̗͇̱̩̼̤̫͎͕̤̜̦͔͓͠ŗ̟͉̥̪̼̼̟̻̤c̷̮̬̞̗̭e̶̵̶̴̲̖͕ͅ:͏҉͚̘̮̼̝̻͖͇̳̣̱̦̪̼͕͓͟͞ ͟҉̵̢̰̤͚͍̝̗̜̻͖͍̫̕B͡҉̥̩͕̠̯̞͎͔̙̺̟͇̬͟͠-̵̛̭͓̦͘͡S̡̢̬̻̖͚̥-̴͈̝͙̻͙̫̜͖̬͚͔̙͈͡͡-̢̗̣̟̮̖̮͙̠̩̙͟-͏̺͚̭̣̗̫͚̻͈̲̥̜͎̯͉̻͟͞ͅ-̴̶̢͔͉̥̯̪̝̩̹͓͇͎̜͇̲͙͖̲-̨̲̭̲̫̻̪͉ę̶̜̠̩̦͔̲̺̘͓̦̥̬r̶̴̺͔̺̩̩͇͟͟r̛͔̥̜͙̮̣̫̩̞̺o̟̠̖̱͈͔̯̥͖͔̖̤͡r̡̢̨̭̺͇̣̘͖̙͘͠.̵̶̢̨̗͉̜̬̮̬̦̰̺͇̟͎͙͇͔͙̠̥͓ ̵̢͖͚̩̮̰̫͙͓̤͉̣ͅŞ̴̳̰͍͙̪̕͝ͅo̧̨͘͜͏͉͎̜͍ͅu̶̲̘͈͕̩̩̮̼̯̦͖͇r҉͏̴̢̩̮͙̞̹͔͎̜̪̱͙̝̜c҉͉͎͎͈̤̞͞͝e̸͘͘҉̮͔̺̬̝͙͙͔̩͈̼͖ ͏̘̬̬͢ͅų̸̸̶̢͈̣̫̪̥̖̗͙̲̭͎̪͔n̴̩̻̲̘̼̪̥̘͔͘͢ͅk̢̰͔̯̟͉̥̱̥̺͎̙͇̮̭͉̥̲̣̯̕n̴̨̡̛͖̼̲̫̮͓̹͜ͅo̢͔̯̞̠͓͎̺̥͎̮̟̳͖͠w̛͎̩̯̭̗͕̥̩̼̝̲n̡̹͎̗̫̜̠̼͈̦̠̟̞͕̗̤̰͙ͅ.̶̧͟͏͖̬͔̹͙̞̻͚̼̦̜̹͍̱̥̙ ̷̺͕̝̘͖̭̼̟̥̙̘͞  
> ͝͝҉̴̪̟̟̪̭͈̼̫ͅ  
> ̢̠̭͎̞̻͘͢Ą̸̵̝͙̦̖̩̤̬̞̤̙͇̤̼͎͞ͅu̵̡̧͈͇͇͖͈͔̟̭̬̦͍̖͠d̵̵͡҉̣̲͙̙͔̠̺̺̳̲̠̦̣̜ͅį̷̶̛̛͓̣͍̞̘̘̺̜̝̘̱̖ͅo͏̡̣̤̜̝̮̭̤͉ ̡͕̬͎̗̞̺̲̖̜̲̗͎͎͕̕͠ͅC͍̙͚̮̗͍̖͉̯̞͜͡ͅo̵͜͏̰͕̺͈̬̩͓̭̟͕͎̼̜͖͎̱̬͢r̶̖̦͖̜̤̮͙̻̳̩̞̳̰̜̺͚͈̖r̡̻̠̰̠̗̹͍̮̘͉̥̖͈̱͔̞̮͟ͅu͍̘̥̥͇͖̣̳̬̰̲̥̹p̨̨͚͈̼̫̹͔̹̥͍-̵̯̘̺͟͠u̶͞҉̢̥̲̦͎̭̝͉̙̫͎̗͓̗͇̰̞̻̳͇͢p̸̧̮̜̼͇̞̳̪͔̜̫̻͚͓̮͢͟-̨̯͍̦͍̬̩͈̪̲̫̺̬̤͉̬̫̹͘͞͠ͅu̜͕̲͉͠͞p̧͏̵͍͇͎̠̭̩̠̖͔̖̖̗͇̪̬͢-̶̵̯͙̭̘͘͞͠-̷̵̧͈͔̥͕̞͉̗͖̪̞͔̰͢-̼̪̬͔̦͖͖͜͞͞-̵̧̛̜̣̲̱̺̯̭̪̥͎̳̜̹͟͡-̨͙̙͚̗̟̫̱̬͚͘ͅ-͏͏̶̢̟͖̩̤̙̯̥͎̼̮͔͉͕̫͎͇̬͙̥̕  
> ̷̸͚͕͉̲̝̙͈͇̮͇̫̘̹̥͕̫͖̘"̸̸̴͈̰͓̦͈̝̯͉̘̗̦̪̼͟͡-̛͓̯͍̘̝͕͜͞-̸̴̵̡͕̻̖̼͖͍̱͝-̷̷̴͓̪̜͓͎̫͠͞-҉̛̬͓̯̤̳͔͜-͏̧̧̟̬̗̭͡-̨̟͇̼͕̲̟̳͘͡͠-̶̧̢̡̘͎͓͖̘͜-̸̞̺̪̬̩̱̳͈̩̹̹̞͚̺͔̠͠-̨͉̮͓̹̞̥-̷̖̲̻͇̹̩̝̝̬̻̗͕̱͕̗̬̤͞͡͞ͅe͎̠̲͖̦͠x̸̛͈͓̪͓̼͜p҉̶̗̜̟̜̞͕̲͝͞e̴͏̫̖̪̬̝̤̦̦̮̲̱̠̲̟̙̗̳̹̲͢r͏҉̳̩̹̟͇-̬̻̙̫͓̭̹̪͕͇̻̜̻̳͓̯̕͟͞e̡̯̤̦͕̘̯̹̹̼̦̻͍̟͜r҉͈̖̩͓͎͚̰̰̱̰̜̠̻̝i̡̨̕҉̮͔̳̦̼͎e̸͏̡̨̠͓̻̱͈͘ͅn̴͏̡͕̤̱̥̮͎̯̗͇̜͈̘̩̳̬͙̦͢ͅc͏̨̰̜̟͓͚͈͈͞ȩ̯̗̠͎͙̠̯̤̪͎̹͚̭͘̕͟d͏҉̵̧̭̗̞͕̰̝͎͖̙͓̹͇̗͎͙̪͙͜ ͢͜͏̣͍̘̩̬͚͖̫̪̺̦͔̼̬͇͚͠ͅh̷̳͔͈̞̭̻͙̲̙͈̝͙̝̗͉u҉̨̹͖̮̠͓̜͇͕̮̹͕̱͠-̡̛̰͎̹͉͚̫̖ͅh̛͔͙͔̦̝͘͜u̖̱͕̮̣͚̣̥̝̠̦͜͡͞-̛̝̙̞͉͕̜̜̮̩̬̯̞͘͢͠h̨͏͉͎͍̳͙̜̩̼͉̗̦̙̠u̴͉̰̤͙̺͚͚̲͉ͅm̸̧̖̬̼͓̘̯̻ͅa̷̴̶̴͍̳͎̦̭͔͜a̶̡̦̖̞̰̯̜̳̖̺͖̝͉͙͕̝͍͘a͔̞͚͘͝a͘͝͏̞̲͕̫̰͖a̶̷͚̣͙̲͡n̴̨͉̜͓̰͙͇̝̣̱̲͞i̧͓̠̳͓̰̥̩̥͓̫̜̳͞t̴̨̧̟͖̖̬͖̟͎͈̖͍̼̰͇͕y̡̧͏̥̳̼̞̣͈̥̬͈̱͘-̸̧͙̮͍͎̭̘͍͕͕-̴̸͓̰̞̞̖̕͝ͅ-̴̴̺̤͇̫͇̙̰͎̩͓̙̮̤͕͕̞͡͝-̥̘̭͓̳̖̙̭-̷̴̼̯̖̬̝̗̲̥̼̹̹̤̼̱͘ͅw҉̛̟͕͉͖͓̤o̵̬̠̠͕͕͔͇̤̣̭̱͕̲̪ͅr̢̖͈̠̫̫̹̹͔͚̘̯͍͕̕͡ͅͅṣ̘̪̘̮͢͢͡t̡̲̥̠"̴͍̤̖̻̩̹̝̤̹̥͢ͅ


	35. Hang on to Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I take inspiration from my grandparents as to how Jameson treats his cellphone. :I

**December 20** **th** **, 2030, 10:09 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

“What do you mean, you can’t fuckin’ Track him?” Anti growled into the phone pressed to his ear. “I thought that’s what your cards were for!”

 

“ _Exactly as it sounds, Anti,”_ Marvin answered from the other end of the line. _“H-he did somethin’ to his card, and now I can’t get a lock on it!”_

 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

 

“ _We_ tried _getting a hold of you, but you’ve got to keep your glitching under control! The call wouldn’t go through when we’d tried ‘cause’ve interference on_ your _end and couldn’t get through Jamie’s_ _either since his phone’s probably fuckin’ dead again_ _.”_

 

The glitch clenched his fist and ground his teeth. “Is there _anything_ we can do to find him?”

 

The pause on Marvin’s end had Anti’s stomach in knots. A pause wasn’t good, not with something like this. _“I…”_ A sigh. _“I don’t know anymore. We can’t call him, we don’t know what he looks like for a police report. I can tell that his card’s still intact, so I…I think the only chance we have is if I stretch my magic to find it.”_

 

Anti was shaking his head, and couldn’t help but jump and bare his teeth when Jameson’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder. He locked eyes with Jameson momentarily, noting the way his brows knit together with worry, usually cheery smile pulled into a deep frown. He had to force himself to look away from the unnatural expression plastered over Jameson’s face. It didn’t belong there, and Anti couldn’t bring himself to look at it for too long.

 

“Couldn’t that kill you?” he finally asked with eyes set on the wall above the television.

 

“ _I… Well, yeah. Maybe. But it’s the only chance we’ve got to find him. I-I know my limit. I’ll stop if I need to.”_

 

Jameson started shaking the glitch’s shoulder, then pointed upward at the speech slide that had appeared above his head. _“Why not contact Yan? I do believe he has a tracking ability?”_

 

Anti relayed the words to Marvin with a widening grin. It didn’t last long, however, as the glitch’s shoulders sagged. Well, there went that option, _“He’d need one of Schneep’s belongings to Track him. We don’t have any of them, and we can’t send anyone back to our plane. S’far as we know, we’ll be so faded when we get back there we’d be gone soon as we stepped foot back inside.”_

 

“We could send Wilford?”

 

“ _Time passes faster out here, remember? Even he could be too faded to go back.”_

 

“And if he’s not?”

 

“ _We’re not sending him, and that’s final, Anti.”_

 

“Fuckin’..! Mark? FaceTime ‘im to show ‘im where Schneep’s stuff is?” He was grasping at straws by that point.

 

“ _That kinda stuff doesn’t work between dimensions.”_ Anti knew that. Of course he did! FaceTime, Skype, texts involving images or videos—the images got warped beyond recognition, audio lagged and cut out. Doing it between the human and Egos’ planes just didn’t work. They’d never really been able to figure out the reason. _Why_ couldn’t it work, though… _“I-I wish it did, ‘cause we would’a asked Mark already. B-but…”_ An odd noise came from Marvin’s end of the line. Sniffling; Marvin was crying.

 

Another voice, too far from the phone to actually make out what it said, could be heard. Marvin’s sniffling quieted, then stopped altogether—the other must have been Jackie, Anti guessed—before the line went dead as the magician hung up. Anti just stared at the black screen of his cellphone for a long moment. That couldn’t be it. There had to be some other way to find Schneeplestein. There _had_ to be. If not, Marvin was going to wind up hurting himself trying to Track the doctor.

 

When Jameson snapped to get Anti’s attention, it took the glitch a moment to realize what it actually was. The younger Septic had been “shielding” himself with his silencing aura a lot less lately, but the little sounds he would now make because of it still took some getting used to. Without a word, Anti glanced up at the speech slide above his companion’s head: _“Perhaps we could speak with Seán over the matter again?”_

 

Anti shook his head. “Signe’s family’s there. Marv, Jackie, Bim, an’ King are at a hotel ‘til they leave, an’ Seán doesn’t want us contactin’ him until they’re gone.” The reasoning made sense, but it was still a pain in the ass. One of the Hansens could easily overhear something they weren’t supposed to or catch sight of a text—but still. Having their creator available would be kind of nice considering the circumstances.

 

A sigh was all that left Jameson as the slide disappeared. His foot was tapping over the carpeted floor, brows scrunched together. _“What—”_ Whatever else he wanted to say never showed up on the new slide that appeared in a wavering shake above him.

 

When Anti stood, Jameson’s eyes followed him. “Let’s go for a walk, yeah?” All he got in reply was a shrug, so the glitch huffed softly. “C’mon, James. It’ll take our minds off things for a while.”

 

Anti leaned down to adjust the Velcro on his shoes before standing to his full height again. He pocketed his phone and wallet, then patted his companion on the back. “C’mon,” he said as his hand moved to the back of Jameson’s neck as a means to guide him out of the room. From there, they just wandered for a while. The younger still wasn’t smiling, and his shoulders were sagging slightly. It just looked so unnatural on him.

 

By the time they actually sat down again, it was as a cafe with outdoor seating after they had ordered pre-made pastries. Donuts, to be exact. While Jameson cut his into smaller pieces to make eating it without choking a possibility, they both kept their cellphones within view on the table. Jameson made show of “texting,” but actually just made his slides appear on the screen of Anti’s phone so that they could communicate while still letting the younger Septic use a hand to eat rather than sign. Truth be told, Jameson’s phone had actually been dead the last week or so. He just used it so rarely that he neither noticed, nor cared, to actually remember to charge it.

 

“ _You… Do you think we can find Schneeplestein soon?”_ Jameson asked. His fork was stabbed into the piece he’d just cut from the donut as he dragged it distractedly around his plate. If his free hand wasn’t positioned over his phone to look like he was texting his companion, there was a pretty good chance he would be leaning on it instead.

 

Anti, who had finished his pastry a little while ago, now, stared down at his empty plate after reading the message. He dragged his shoulders into a shrug, combed his fingers through his hair, then glanced up to meet Jameson’s eyes. The usually stunning blue seemed so dull with the sad expression the dapper Ego wore, Anti noted. “I seriously don’t fuckin’ know anymore…”

 

“ _He has to at least be safe, hasn’t he?”_

 

“We can hope.” The glitch lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “We at least know he’s alive, an’ Jackie’s taught him to defend himself.” Despite his words, Anti shook his head again. Hopefully Schneep could keep himself safe until they found a way to get to him.

 

The pair sat in silence for a long time as Jameson picked at his food with little interest. By the time Anti actually checked the time again, it was almost eleven-thirty. It…would be a long day, he mused with an irritated curl of the lip and a start when Jameson hit his palm against the table to get the glitch’s attention. The younger then proceeded to point at something to Anti’s left, so he turned with brows furrowing.

 

“ _He bumped your chair,”_ Jameson said through Anti’s phone as the glitch took in the sight of a man practically face-first on the ground next to him. The man was quickly gaining the attention of the other humans in the immediate area. _“The chap collapsed as soon as he brushed past you.”_

 

The man wore roller skates, dark sunglasses, and a baggy sweatshirt that immediately made the glitch think of Bing when he tried to look more human than he really was. His brows were scrunched up, teeth bared in a way that made him appear to be in pain; the muscles in his back and arms kept twitching like he was trying to push himself up, but just couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate.

 

Anti noted a thin line of…was that static?…race across one of the man’s visible hands just as he gasped. _Collapsed as he brushed past you._ With furrowed brows, he inched a foot closer to the man, and through it sent a glitchy burst of pixels, unseen by the gathering crowd, at the man. If he was human, then he shouldn’t react like it was any more than a static shock—

 

The glitch jumped when the man tensed and screamed.

 

Not a man. Oh, God…not a man!

 

Anti stood and, with a calmness that surprised even himself, grabbed Jameson’s arm and pulled the other Septic to his feet. Without a word, they walked, and kept walking until they were well away from the scene at the cafe. No more drama with unknowns, he thought as he remembered Infelix. The Septics and Ipliers just couldn’t deal with any more of it.

 

Jameson pulled his arm free and turned on the glitch with an extremely disapproving look plastered on his face as soon as the glitch’s steps slows almost two blocks from the cafe. As Anti’s phone was still in his hand, he sent his next scolding words to its screen: _“What ever are you doing, Anti? We could have at least attempted to help the poor man!”_

 

“James.” Anti took the other by the shoulders and leaned in close to Jameson’s ear as his voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper, “That wasn’t a fuckin’ man. That was an _android_ , an’ trust me when I say it wasn’t one of ours!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: If you have any songs that remind you of the fic itself, the characters, or goings-on, feel free to tell me! I've got a series playlist that I listen to while I work on chapters, and if I can get enough songs added to it I'll make that playlist public for my readers! <3
> 
> Secondly:  
> Um. Oops? I do wonder who this other an͡droįd could be, don't y--  
> \--There has been an e̡r̝̼̯͈r̶͙͚o̪r in relaying the rest of this message.  
> \--R̷͈͎ͪeplacement message available.  
> \--Would you l̹i̡̠̰̞k̝͝e͏̯ ̴̱̗̼͉̺to̴͈̱̙ ͍̮̥̭̝̟r҉̙̤̺̟̯͔e͏͙v̞̯͓̟ͅi̙̼͕̠̼̺͝e̮̙͠w͈̲̼̗̭̭ ͍͇̯͖̠̜i̼͝t̥̼̣̩̮͉?̞͈̞̬̭
> 
> NO >>>Y͝E͜S  
> \---Playing new m͟essage.̷  
> "--̧-͢--͡--------͢---played ẉ̝̭̘̪͡ͅị̛̯͜t̻̖̯͉ḥ̶̸̙̗̤͓̮̟͞ ̘̫͘f̶͍͍͍͕̯̣̩i̧̲̘r̞̤͈͠e̴̶̘̰̩̫̻-̛-͜-͘-͟-͘-̯̭̭͇͗-̨̰ͫͧ̀͐̏ͨ̚-̨̥̬̱̞͍̂ͫ̔ͭͅ-̗̰̞̮̫͓͎̑́͡-̲̮̠̳̱͠-̫͎̭̬̞ͧ̉ͭ͠-̹̙͖̰̮̐͢-̺̖͔̠̜͓̂ͬͤ̈́͐̋͋ͅ-͔̥̮͕̮̼͈͑͠-̄ͣ͞-̢͇̹͎͔̉̂̍ͦͅ-ͤt̞͖̣̮ͩ̇͋õ͎̬̖͙̖͉̗͑̑͋́ͩ̕o̜̲͕̤̙͓̍̀̄̓̃ͅ ̰̼̬̚m̹̝͙̞̜ͅaͯ͒̓ͯnͪ҉̱̹y̨̭ͣͪ͆ ̠̝̭̘̱͓͕t̤̺̩ͫ̐̆ͤi̤̿͛̑̌͂̂̕m̙ͬ̔̄͌̚ȅ̴͓ͪ̀̉͂ͨ́s̮̝͚̹͔̋̿ͮ̅-͔̹̜̭͖̬͍̔ͤ-̬͔̦ͦͮ̌ͮ̓̾͂ͅ--"


	36. Fingerprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this chapter is late! D: It kept trying to run in a direction I didn’t want and I’ve been adjusting to a new schedule, so have admittedly been procrastinating/avoiding computer altogether the last little while. I’ll try to get back on schedule, though it may take a few weeks to get back to my regular posting time of Saturday/Sunday since I’ll have to figure out how to work with my schedule. Updates could be wonky for the next little while, so I’ll just say that instead of promising anything.  
> I had to completely redo this chapter multiple times because there was just no cooperation from Jacques and Ed. I finally found a way to approach the scene and considering all my trouble with this chapter, it's certainly not my worst work.

**December 22** **nd** **, 2030, 9:00 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

It was quiet for the most part. A “truce” of sorts had been met between Silver, Roxanne, and Jacques where the couple just left the Septic alone and he got whatever was needed through his ability. It seemed to help the artist’s sour mood to know he was at least useful now. There were still sarcastic quips and harsh insults, of course, but as long as it was relatively quiet he mostly stuck to himself.

 

Unfortunately for Jacques, anxiety had begun pooling in the pit of his stomach. Anxiety that was making the harsher side of the Septic’s personality rear its ugly head more and more often. Every time his phone pinged he was jolting, flinching, as if he’d been struck. He’d check the message with a pallor to his face, then the color would return and his shoulders slump when it turned out to just be a device or app update, or the motel asking for a rating. It was clear he was waiting for something, and it was something he wasn’t looking forward to.

 

A month—nearly an entire _month—_ since he’d last heard from Ed. The cowboy had promised to text him. Why…why hadn’t he done so yet? Just get it over with!

 

The artist jumped when his cellphone pinged, pencil thrown into the air as if Jacques himself was a comical cartoon character. It landed with a light clatter on the windowsill next to him before rolling off and onto the floor. He ignored it and reached for the device, cursing the time it took to unlock the screen, dreading the sight of the message app with its little “1” in the corner. A new text. Only one person would have texted him.

 

Roxanne was in the shower, Silver asleep on the other bed, while Jacques stared the app down. It was mocking him. Jacques rubbed a hand over one wrist—the same wrist Ed had bruised almost a month ago. It was no longer discolored, nor did it hurt, but the memory was still there. Ed had never been cruel to him before coming Outside. A little pushy, maybe, but never mean in any way.

 

Jacques furrowed his brows. Then again, he knew very well how Ed could be. Back…was home even the right word anymore?…the artist wouldn’t really argue if he was told to do something. He didn’t mouth off to the Ipliers. The other Septics, he avoided. He never really understood why Ed had taken an interest in him. He wasn’t powerful by any means; awkward around others unlike the salesman. At the same time, he wasn’t tied down by relationships like the rest; higher on the intelligence spectrum than some of the others. Not Dark or Doc or Schneeplestein smart, of course, but more so than Ed at the very least.

 

The Septic murmured to himself in French; grimaced when Silver stirred.

 

He needed to check the message. He would really rather avoid making Ed any more upset with him than he’d been the last time they saw each other.

 

Jacques’s hands were shaking as he clicked the little icon. Why were they shaking? Stop shaking! He cursed himself when it made him drop his phone in his lap. He checked the sender. Caller ID read “Edgar.” The artist swallowed around the lump forming in his throat as he read the text.

 

Ed wanted to meet up with him. That’s all it said: _‘Meet me at Marlow’s.’_ Marlow’s…wasn’t that the Internet cafe?

 

“ _Sur mon chemin...”_ he murmured to himself as he slipped out of bed.

 

Roxanne was still in the shower, but he started as Silver’s sudden voice from behind him.. “Where’re you going?” The superhero had rolled over to face the artist, brows scrunched up.

 

“Just a walk. Fresh air is good, no?”

 

Silver looked ready to argue before thinking better of it and clamping his mouth shut. “Just…keep your phone on, okay?”

 

A roll of the eyes was all that answered the Iplier’s request, then Jacques was slipping out the door. He had his phone, wallet, sketchpad, and pencil. That would do.

 

The Septic’s eyes flickered about as he shifted to a jog down the wide sidewalks. Their motel was in a “sketchy” part of the city, so he would prefer to get to the busier areas quickly. That, and he didn’t want to keep Ed waiting.

 

Still not exactly the best at traversing the streets, Jacques found himself scurrying in front of honking cars and tripping on curbs and cracks in the sidewalks in his rush. The occasional pedestrian would gawk or laugh or just ignore him altogether, while a few actually moved to help him back up. The first time admittedly surprised him enough that he flinched away from their touch; determined to keep a human’s hands away from him. The next, he was a little more willing to accept the help and then was off again.

 

By the time he actually reached the cafe, craning his neck to check the sign and make sure it was indeed Marlow’s, the artist was out of breath. Wiping sweaty hands on his jeans, Jacques then moved to pull the door open. No use waiting to go in.

 

He first noticed a young woman behind the counter; she gave him a friendly smile and nod in greeting before going back to wiping down the counter. His eyes flickered about the rest of the area; a few other people were there. The first patron he noticed being a broad man, and then his smaller companion, but none of the others really caught the artist’s initial attention.

 

Another quick scan easily revealed the cowboy at a lone table off in the corner of the cafe. Jacques hugged his sketchpad tightly to his chest as he approached and took an empty chair next to the older Ego. Ed barely even glanced at him.

 

The artist noted the other’s scruffy appearance: Unkempt mustache, his long hair in greasy strands beneath his hat, and it looked like he had the fading ring of a bruise around his neck and the top button broken off his shirt. Had someone tried to strangle Ed? Jacques almost snorted at the thought. Maybe the cowboy had gotten too cocky, lipped off, tried Persuading someone higher on the intelligence spectrum who didn’t take kindly to his words. Or maybe he’d been in a bar and ticked off a drunkard. The Ipliers couldn’t drink without practically poisoning themselves, but that had never stopped some of them from at least hanging out in bars; ordering sodas or food. Had never stopped some of them, namely Wilford, from starting things with the patrons back in their plane.

 

When Ed cleared his throat, hands tight around a coffee mug, the other started. He couldn’t quite look Ed in the eyes due to those damn sunglasses, but did his best when the cowboy lifted his head to look at Jacques.

 

“Did…you need something from me?”

 

A nod answered. “Yeah. Cash.”

 

Jacques arched his brows slightly. “Okay… How much?”

 

“Couple hundred. Now.”

 

“ _Quelle?!_ I can’t…” The artist glowered and lowered his voice, “I-I mean, I _can_ , but not in public! My pages glow when—” He clamped his mouth shut when Ed stood; scurried after the Iplier as he left the cafe. “Ed? Ed!”

 

The artist had to jog to catch up again. His brows were furrowed, lips pulled into a deep frown. Something was off with the Iplier. His gait was stiff, skin pale. He looked…stressed.

 

“Ed?”

 

An alleyway, behind a trashbin where they couldn’t be seen from the street, and the cowboy finally turned to face Jacques. “Just hurry the hell up,” Ed growled. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the brick wall behind him. His sunglasses were off now, tucked in the pocket of his wrinkled button-up.

 

His eyes looked… _dead_. Blank of anything as he set his gaze on the Septic. Soulless, like something out of a paranormal horror film. It send a shudder down Jacques’s spine, but he just shook his head and opened his sketchpad to an empty page.

 

“Right… Right.”

 

It really didn’t take long for Jacques to follow the command: A stack of cash sketched out, then pulled right off the page. Something small, relatively easy, for the Septic. He did his best not to meet Ed’s eye as he passed the it to the cowboy.

 

“That is enough?” A grunt was the only answer as Ed fanned through the stack.

 

Though Jacques wasn’t one for conversation, a few of the others knew about his abilities. Ed, obviously; the Host. He was pretty sure Jackieboy, Dr. Iplier, and Schneeplestein knew, too. The doctors knew everyone’s abilities since they sort of had to, Host because of his narrations, and Jackieboy…well, he was Jackieboy. He seemed to find out everyone’s abilities one way or another—he wasn’t even that nosy; Jacques didn’t get how he did it. But Ed? Whenever Jacques would get upset, he’d rant on and on. Ed actually listened, and now the artist was anxious about that. Jacques was dramatic when he was upset. He’d… _begrudgingly,_ admit that. Would shout or mutter things about the problem or himself.

 

…Shit. How many things had the artist revealed?

 

Jacques started when Ed pushed himself away from the wall.

 

“I need to go back to the motel now,” the artist said as he stepped away. Something was seriously wrong with Ed, and he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the older Ego as possible.

 

“Why don’t ya follow me, kiddo? Ya’ll don’t wanna go back to _Silver,_ do ya?”

 

Familiar anxiety balled up inside the artist as he jerked away from Ed’s outstretching hand. He pulled his sketchpad close to his chest, head ducked low. “I do, yes.” One foot slid back, followed by the other; eyes set on the cowboy. “J-just leave me alone. I gave what you wanted, no?”

 

The fact the Ed’s expression remained blank scared Jacques more than if the cowboy would have gotten angry instead. Something wasn’t right. This _was_ Ed, right? And not just some shape-shifting Ego? Jacques had never met one since they were fairly rare and he could care less to _actually_ meet one, but he’d heard that all five of…what was the guy’s name? Thomas? That his Sides, or whatever he called them, were all capable of it. Maybe they weren’t as rare as he’d thought?

 

Jacques looked the Iplier in the eyes. Caramel brown. Almost gold; like Ed had used his Persuasion recently. It only served to make Jacques more uneasy with the situation.

 

“Sh…show me your aura!”

 

That stopped the cowboy in his tracks. His eyes were still so blank, but he was hesitating. The artist swallowed around the lump in his throat.

 

Auras were an Ego’s very soul; their identity. They were like fingerprints: Not one ever alike another. Even the Twins and Upgrades had ones so unique from each other. Jacques’s was like splatter-paint wings. Small, of no use in anything but grabbing attention, but still his aura. Unique to him; something he cared deeply for because it was all his own. Ed’s, a dust cloud; topped off with howling wind and even stinging to the eyes and wind-whipped clothes of anyone daring enough to get close.

 

Appearances could be copied. Perhaps even abilities could.

 

But an aura would always remain individual.

 

If Ed couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ show his aura…

 

When asked to see an aura, it was shown. No questions asked. Like identification for humans almost, but far better proof than any I.D. card could ever hope to be.

 

Jacques turned to bolt, shoe slipping clumsily over the ground and instead offering a face full of concrete. He pulled himself into a sitting position, tasting blood from the lip he’d bit on impact.

 

Whether fortunate or unfortunate, before Ed could decide to advance or Jacques to get back up and run, a man—well, clearly not a man—materialized between them. A teleporter? Jacques felt his brows furrow as the clear Ego grabbed Ed by the shirt, shoved him angrily. The Ego had wild, dark hair; a pale complexion, but really only the…makeup? on his face was all that was actually memorable. Two thick, dark stripes running from beneath the eyes to the jawline. Like a little kid had wanted to copy Mommy’s rain-streaked mascara and went overboard when she wasn’t looking.

 

The Ego looked about ready to give the cowboy an earful, but was gone almost as quickly as he’d appeared—Ed in tow. Disappearing into thin air as if the two had never even been there in the first place.

 

How would the artist even _begin_ to tell Silver about this? Maybe it would be best to just keep it to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed seemed...soul̵le͝ss͘, hmm?


	37. Rare Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there’s a little kid later in the chapter because come on, Schneeps needs something to smile about! He might show up one more time, but I’m debating it. He’s not important to the series, but I did reuse an OC’s name (Jeremiah “Jed”) and childhood appearance for him because it was the first thing to come to mind and this is the kid from the family mention in the Christmas one-shot back in December. Just a little behind-the-scenes note for ya or in case you happen to recognize him from my DeviantArt! Call it lazy, but despite being a villain in the comic I plan for him, Jed was cute as a kid! XD  
> \------------------  
> Also, another of Schneep’s abilities is revealed in this chapter. I’m trying to introduce everyone’s in places where they’d fit best without seeming like they’re there just to be there. However, if you don’t want to wait for all the individual reveals, you can go to my fic titled “Ego Abilities” and everyone’s are available in there.

**December 24** **th** **, 2030, 9:25 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Christmas Eve. Most places were closed. Many people with family. Children giddy for the morning to come. Lights adorning homes, plastic trees standing tall in storefront windows and the homes of those who celebrated; alive with colored decorations and blinking bulbs. Presents beneath their boughs; daring little fingers venturing to pull off a bow before the following morning without being caught.

 

Puddles littered the ground from the night’s rain; colorful lights reflecting in their surface to make a gray day in Los Angeles a little more lively.

 

Couples were smiling with the thought of their first Christmas together; children squealing, giggling, darting about.

 

Then, there were the city’s many homeless shelters: Crowded with the coming holiday.

 

The men’s shelter of a certain doctor was one such, crowded, place. The cots on either side of his own once empty were now claimed. Even so, it seemed awfully lonely. The few volunteers for the day were busy with sick or elderly in an attempt to help them get comfortable. Schneep had to wonder where Max—the volunteer who had been at his side to support the Ego since his first day there—had gone off to for the day. Maybe the guy had family to be with; a wife and kids. Siblings, or even just close friends.

 

Schneep’s heart ached at the thought. Friends… Oh, how he missed his own.

 

Broad shoulders sagged with invisible weight; arms on the knees and fingers locked together. Marvin’s card sat a forgotten, crumpled mess in the doctor’s left pocket while his scalpel nestled hidden in the right. Almost three weeks and he hadn’t even touched that card. Almost three weeks, and he’d forgotten it was even there. Too distracted, and distant, to remember.

 

There was no reason for him to try and find a way to get back to them regardless of how badly he wished to see them again. They didn’t need him and if they really had wanted him back, wouldn’t they have found him by now? They would have done something. They would have, but didn’t.

 

The doctor started, jerked from his thoughts, when a small foam ball hit his leg and caught between his feet. He blinked down at it before reaching down to scoop it up. It was yellow; a faded smiley face taking up a large part of it. A stress ball with a chunk taken out of it from what looked like teeth. Schneep couldn’t help but frown before lifting his gaze toward the pattering of little feet. A familiar sound. One that confused him for a moment. Little Sophia wasn’t little anymore.

 

The child to come almost skidding to a stop in front of Schneeplestein wasn’t Sophie, though. The little boy was maybe six. He had his hands on his knees as he leaned forward and looked up to get right in the doctor’s face.

 

All Schneep could do was offer a gentle, genuine smile to the child as he held out the ball. It was his first smile in a long time. “Hello, little one. This is yours?” he asked.

 

The boy grinned at the heavy accent while nodding, but didn’t take the toy back right away. “What’s your name? I’m Jed!”

 

“Good to meet you, little Jed. _Ich bin_ Henrik.”

 

“…Eek…ben?”

 

That brought a laugh from the doctor. The first in weeks, if not months, that he could remember. “ _Ich bin_ ,” he corrected. “Is ‘I am.’”

 

The child certainly had energy judging by the fact he couldn’t quite stand still. Shifting from one foot to the other, playing with the hem of his shirt, and really just anything that offered a little bit of movement. With a soft chuckle, Schneeplestein tossed the ball to the child, who caught it against his chest with both hands.

 

“Jeremiah? You’re not pestering this man, are you?” Both the child and doctor glanced up toward the new voice. It was a man with the same dark skin and gold-brown eyes as the little boy, holding what appeared to be a three- or four-year-old by the hand.

 

“No!” Hands on the hips, sharp glare with a pouty-lip—God, it _was_ little Sophia.

 

The look the man gave Schneep was a clear _“well, is he?”_ with raised eyebrows and all. “No, no,” Schneep answered, “is not bothering me.” The doctor stood, unable to help his relief when the man was nearly his own height, even if he was a bony fellow. “Ah. Henrik Dietrich,” he greeted. The man outstretched a hand to the Ego, and introduced himself as well when it was accepted.

 

Schneep had to try hard not to jerk his hand out of the man’s grasp when he Saw the state of the man’s hand. He had compared the ability to a 3D, X-ray-type image that showed up in his head when he made contact with the patient’s damaged areas. Anything an X-ray could show, Schneeplestein could See through the right form of contact. It had always made diagnosing his fellow Septics and Ipliers a far simpler task than it really should have been.

 

The ability had him forcing himself not to grimace at the Sight of the man’s arthritis. It was the beginning stages; fully possible the man didn’t even know he had it yet. And with two young boys? It was bound to get difficult over time.

 

Unfortunately, Schneep couldn’t say anything about it. Out here, he wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t have a license. And how the hell could he explain how he knew it was even there in the first place? So he just feigned a smile and pushed his thoughts aside. It was no longer his job, and he needed to remember that.

 

Upon releasing the father’s hand, Schneep chose to seat himself once more. “I…must ask. What is Vater doing here with little children?” His brows were raised, blue eyes remaining locked with brown.

 

“Our apartment burned down!” Jed said without even allowing his father a chance to speak.

 

The man continued, with an exasperated look to the little boy, “I have good insurance and agents, but this time-a year’s hard for them to find us a place. And with hotels overbooked we’ll be here a few weeks until they’ve found us something.” There was a shrug. So, they wouldn’t be here long.

 

“Then I do hope you don’t have to stay long.”

 

The doctor chuckled softly when the chewed-up ball was thrown at him, one hand easily catching and squishing the foam. He waited until it had regained its shape to toss it back to Jed. That went on for a short while with both parties smiling. Schneep felt…relaxed. That seemed a good way to put it.

 

“…Your eyes are funny!” It was an innocent statement, if sudden, from the boy. It had Schneep rubbing a sleeve over his glasses to get rid of any odd smudges that may have been there.

 

The doctor then raised his hands over his head and leaned forward. “I’ll show you funny, little Jed!” A fake growl, bared teeth, and trying his damnedest not to laugh, and the child squealed and ran behind the cover of his father’s legs. Man and Ego chuckled at the antics, but Schneep’s attention was soon drawn away by the sound of his name. “Ah…Very good meeting you, Mr. Wilhelm,” the doctor said as he stood. “I wish _du und dein_ family best of luck.” The words were accompanied by a soft smile that the corners of his eyes crinkling. It felt so good to genuinely smile…

 

That smile fell away when the Septic turned away to find the source of the voice. It had sounded like Max, but the problem was finding where the man was. The place was so crowded—

 

“Henrik!”

 

“Jesus fuck!”

 

Schneep found a hand over his heart as he glared at the offending human who seemed to come out of nowhere. The glare didn’t hold for long while the Ego composed himself. Why was Max even there? Didn’t he have somewhere to be? The doctor readily voiced those thoughts, to which the man just rolled his eyes.

 

“This’s a _volunteer_ job. My paying one comes first, but closed up early today. So. Now I’m here.” He glanced back in the direction Schneep had come from before focusing attention back on the doctor. “…Good with kids. Have your own?”

 

Caught off guard, Schneep flinched slightly at the question. “Children..? Oh—No. No.”

 

“Huh.” Shrugging, the man perked up and pointed with a thumb toward the entrance. “Walk? It’d be good for ya.”

 

A walk was…nice. The doctor let his gaze drift over the décor lining the streets from the moment they set foot outside the shelter. The more he thought about it, this was actually the first time in what had to be years he’d actually seen Christmas decorations. He’d forgotten how pretty they were.

 

“Henrik?” The doctor raised his brows, but chose to keep quiet. “Why are you at a shelter? You seem you could be an accomplished man.”

 

“Hm. Is simple: I’m lost, Mr. Reid.” He smiled, but it wouldn’t reach his eyes. “I just need to find _meine Freunde_ and I can go home.”

 

The man stuck his hands in the front pocket of his sweater. Another turtleneck, but Christmas-themed unlike the solid-color ones Schneep was used to seeing him in. Red- and white-striped, with a big tree on the front. “You could always call?”

 

Blue eyes turning to the ground in front of them, the doctor shook his head. He would have tried that already. But he couldn’t remember any of the cell numbers, and both creators had been careful to keep their numbers private—even going to far as to have their phone numbers changed after they’d finished YouTube. And Schneep didn’t know where the Fischbachs lived. How could he? This was his first time ever being in the humans’ plane, so why would he ever think to ask Mark’s address?

 

He wouldn’t even know where to _begin_ to look.

 

“Is not that simple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz  
> ^^^^^  
> Also, check it out! Series playlist. <3 ("Money Run Low" is the series' current theme song, btw)  
> If you have songs you think fit the series, feel free to share so that I can add to the list! I like to listen to it while I write. Also, if you do suggest one, I'd appreciate if you told me whether you thought it fit the story in general, a certain character/relationship, scene, p̵ļo̸t, etc. Help with the playlist would be awesome!


	38. Get a Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mild Blood/Gore & Medical Procedures, Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is…actually the first chapter I used the common name for the Egos’ plane??? It’s just been “Egos’ plane” or “back home” throughout the fic, so I didn’t even realize I wasn’t using the common name for it. Welp, now you have it!

**December 27** **th** **, 2030, 9:00 AM**

**Breckenridge, Colorado**

 

It was quiet with Dark and Wilford out of the room. The two had gone out to look for applications and pick up groceries while leaving Dr. Iplier and Host back at the hotel. Neither would complain about it much. The cold didn’t do either of them any good, and the Host _really_ needed his eyes…eye sockets? cleaned. It was never fun for either party involved, so at least there was peace and quiet so Doc wouldn’t wind up accidentally scratching the sensitive flesh at the wound-site.

 

“Tilt your head up.”

 

The elder Ego did as ordered. There was a click as the doctor turned on a small flashlight, and then another as said flashlight was placed between his teeth so he could keep his hands free to work. The Host remained silent, undesiring to See what was going on. He trusted the good doctor enough to see no need in hovering. The Host did, however, flinch away slightly as a fresh wad of alcohol-soaked cotton touched a particularly sensitive area in the empty cavity where a left eye should have set.

 

As always, Dr. Iplier was patient with the older Ego; allowing the Host to compose himself before continuing.

 

“Bleeding more than usual…” the doctor mused. “Little clotting…” A huff as he replaced yet another piece of soiled cotton.

 

The Host’s brows raised, head tilting in what he could assume the general direction of Doc’s face. “The dear doctor sounds as if diagnosing a menstrual complication.”

 

The following snort had the older Iplier’s lips curling upward slightly. “For someone supposedly so frightening you’ve got an odd sense of humor, my friend.” The words were said with a flashlight still between the teeth. As soon as the word “sense” had left the doctor’s mouth as sounding more like “shensh,” the Host had started chuckling. Despite the Ego’s appearance and reputation, it was a surprisingly soft, almost welcoming, sound.

 

“Yes, yes, you laugh. We’ll see what’s funny when you’ve got to do this yourself.”

 

“The Host was of the belief that his dear doctor would never make a blind patient tend to his own wounds?”

 

Dr. Iplier laughed. “Blind my ass. You’re probably Watching what I’m doing a moment from now.”

 

“On the contrary. The Host trusts his doctor enough not to hover.” There was a smile on the older Ego’s lips. Without bandages covering the gaping holes in his face, it was the stuff of horror films, and that smile—soft as it was—just made the image all the more unsettling. To the doctor’s credit, he didn’t so much as grimace at the sight as he continued to clean out the wounds and banter with his old friend all the while.

 

“The doctor’s mood has improved.” It was a statement. Something the Host was positive of.

 

It certainly caught Doc’s attention. “Improved from when?”

 

The Host’s brows raised and he leaned forward until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Though it wasn’t possible, it gave the impression he was studying the doctor’s face. “From his first days among the humans. He was bitter and upset over the necessity for a license and schooling for a career he’s had from his day of creation.”

 

Dr. Iplier huffed a laugh. “Yes, yes. I was immature, wasn’t I?” He finally set his tools aside on a bloodstained towel to be cleaned shortly, then grabbed a roll of bandages out of thin air. “But everyone has those days, my friend. And sometimes those days last more than a few.” They shared a chuckle as the doctor began wrapping the Host’s face with fresh bandages. They were wrapped a few times to insure the bleed-through would hopefully occur slowly, and fastened the material snugly to the back of the Host’s head.

 

A frown fell over the doctor’s face, and his comrade copied the action as if able to feel the shift in mood. “Joking aside, there’s clearly something wrong with your eyes. They’ve been bleeding more than usual, and seemed more sensitive.” He crossed his arms and gave a thoughtful hum. “You haven’t had any stronger Visions lately, have you?”

 

“The Host hasn’t had powerful Visions in a very long time due to his weakened state in the Figmental Plane. He was…certain he informed the dear doctor of this?”

 

“…Right. That you did.” The doctor touched his fingertips to the chapped skin of his comrade’s cheeks, where blood had streaked from empty eye sockets and down his face. It never caused the skin to dry out almost to the point it might crack and bleed itself; not before that point, at least. “Maybe it’s just to do with the cold…” he mused.

 

The doctor turned toward his medical kit and began digging through it. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he instead flicked his wrist and a tube filled with some sort of cream appeared in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and applied a small amount to his fingertips. “I’m going to start applying this daily to see if it helps.”

 

The Host grimaced at the initial contact. The cream seemed cold against the sensitive flesh; made it obvious to the old Ego where the affected areas of his face were.

 

It wasn’t long before the narrator raised his head slightly, a blind gaze fixed on the door. “Darkiplier and Warfstache return with news.”

 

Sure enough, moments after the statement was made, the duo can hear two sets of footsteps approaching the door, and then it being unlocked. Dark was the first to enter. A folder and newspaper were tucked under one arm as he worked to remove his scarf and unbutton his jacket. Wilford was carrying a bag of what had to be groceries. He sat himself on the end of Dark’s bed without bothering with his coat.

 

“Classifieds?” Doc asked as he gestured to the newspaper in the eldest Iplier’s possession. Dark only nodded and passed the item in question to the doctor, who immediately began skimming it. He looked surprised by how large the list was. “For a busy tourist town, there’s a lot of places hiring. I’d think most would have filled roles?”

 

Dark just gave a “doesn’t matter/don’t care” sort of shrug and opened the folder he’d come in with. It was a simple paper folder that wasn’t meant to last, and it was filled with white pages that contained lines, words, and different graphics. “Applications,” he said as the doctor leaned forward to look.

 

The doctor’s brows raised in surprise. “You must have visited every business on Main!” He set the classifieds aside and instead fixed his focus on the folder. “Are there any we could do without digging through ads to find them?”

 

A small nod from the eldest Ego. “Wilford’s best bet would be the toy shop off Main. All positions the owner is looking to fill involve no interaction with customers, and for the most part are ones Wilford could do.” The demonic Ego removed an application for the toy shop from his folder and passed it to the Iplier in question. “The Host and I will need to do some searching through what Wilford and I found, bu—”

 

“—But we need to find a way to better hide Host’s eyes before we even _think_ of getting him employed,” Dr. Iplier interrupted. Dark just offered him a _look_ that clearly said he was getting to that before ever so _rudely_ interrupted. The doctor just crossed his arms and returned the stare.

 

The interaction had Wilford snickering, and the Host offering the faintest of smirks. The eldest cast his stare to the other two then—Wilford just stuck out his tongue, while the Host raised his brows and tipped his head in faux confusion. It showed that the blind Ego was now Watching what went down and found humor in it.

 

Dark grumbled, cracked his neck, and began sifting through the applications. “As for our doctor…” He continued thumbing through papers until producing one and passing it to Dr. Iplier.

 

“…Search and rescue?” The doctor looked it over with brows scrunching. “You need training for that. _A lot_ of training. Where would I go for that?”

 

“Breckenridge had a volunteer team for a long time, but formed a professional one in the last few years. All training for it is currently at the ski resort until they can afford their own building,” the eldest answered. A foul look crossed his face as he continued with, “I did contact our _dear_ creator. He agreed to pay for your training if that’s the path you go with.”

 

A deep frown fell over the doctor’s face. “But…I’m a _surgeon._ This…that would be _field medicine_ at the very most!”

 

The doctor started at a hand suddenly on his arm. The long, bony fingers easily wrapped around his elbow; that hand pulling him down to take a seat next to the Host. “The dear doctor needs to think of the situation in a different light,” the narrator said. “If he starts with the job Darkiplier has suggested, he can move to better careers more easily.”

 

Doc’s expression twisted into something the others couldn’t quite place before he let his shoulders slump. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One to work search and rescue.  
> Two undecided.  
> One to work for a toy͘-̸ma͟k͘er̡.


	39. Start Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Alcohol Mention

**December 31** **st** **, 2030, 10:38 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Christmas had come and gone in the blink of an eye and the minimum décor Bing had managed to nab from Amy after begging her for some still decorated the living room. It consisted of a single string of colorful lights along one wall, and some foam snowmen taped about the room. It wasn’t much, but it was a start and Bing and Chase had promised that next year, they’d have real decorations, and even stockpile for the years to come.

 

But now, the Septic and his kids sat in the living room with four Ipliers, the Fischbachs, and Chica. They’d pulled the dining table in and scattered it with snacks, and on the TV in big, bold numbers, was a New Years countdown.

 

It was crowded in the relatively small duplex, but everyone had grins on their faces and despite the fact it was a party, none of them got too loud. Yan was playing with Sophie’s hair as they and Kyler laughed about different things they recalled from back home. Sometimes the adults would glance toward them and smile, while Chica, the old girl, had decided to lay across the Brody kids’ laps as they shared the love-seat. Yan, perched up on the backrest behind them, would occasionally lean over them to pet the canine before returning to braiding and unbraiding Sophie’s hair with practiced hands.

 

Yan had really mellowed over the years, so the sight was nothing new to the Egos. The Fischbachs, on the other hand, had never seen him so relaxed and, well, _normal._ It had Amy smiling lightly before she turned back to conversation with the older Egos and Mark just as Bing was rolling his eyes.

 

“Dude,” the android said as he leaned forward to look at Mark from around Chase and Amy, “it’s New Years Fuckin’ Eve. We’ll worry ‘bout this android Anti encountered later.” Both Brody kids looked at him with their brows raised. He always had Safe Search on around them, or at least watched his tongue.

 

“But—”

 

“ _No_.” Bing ran a hand over his face as his core rumbled in something reminiscent to a growl. It had the half-asleep Chase jolting awake with a deer-in-the-headlights look across his face. “Sorry man; go back to sleep,” the android said. For Chase (who immediately started nodding off again), his voice was much softer than toward his creator who he directed again shortly thereafter. “Look, Mark. Just… I need a breather, okay, man? We don’t know where the hell the Googs are ‘cause Blue ain’t letting Ollie talk to me much, so who’s the one that’ll be looking into this fucking problem? Me. Give me a _fucking break,_ dude.”

 

“Bing’s been super busy,” one of the Twins cut in. Judging by how Jim was the one leaning forward, the others assumed it had been him. “He’s homeschooling the kids, working on documents so he can print them back at your place, _and_ he’s the one cleaning the house since Chase is out job-searching now, too.”

 

Jimmy added, “He’s been overworking himself so we can _actually_ live out here. Let him have some rest. It’s not gonna hurt anything.”

 

The android in question gave the two a grateful look as he relaxed back into his seat. He had an arm draped over the back of the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, for quite the relaxed position despite how tense he’d been moments before.

 

When Kyler and Sophie both started giggling, all eyes followed theirs to none other than Chase.

 

“Well,” Kyler laughed, “looks like Dad couldn’t make it to midnight!” Snickers came from all sides.

 

After he’d been nodding off for the last hour-and-a-half, Chase had finally dozed off completely. His half-empty beer tilted precariously in his lap, head fallen against Bing’s shoulder as the android just shook his head and laughed softly so as not to wake him. He took the beer so it wouldn’t spill and held it out for someone else to set aside; Jim was the first on his feet, and he took it to put back in the fridge before returning to his brother’s side. Amy, on the other hand, had leaned forward just to look at the Septic and android.

 

Her head tilted a little. “Are you two..?” She trailed off when Bing just gave her a look.

 

“A thing?” Bing finished with a slight frown; Sophie giggled a little at that. “Nah, man.” From there, he dropped it and changed the subject with a returning grin, “Ya know, kinda hard to believe it’s gonna be ‘31 already. I mean, damn. We haven’t even been out here that long!”

 

“Well…it’s a good way to start fresh, right?” Kyler piped in. “That’s what Dad said, at least.”

 

And that it would be. New lives, some of them under new names. They would have all faded had they not left for the humans’ plane. The Figmental Plane—their _home—_ would have been their end. What better way to start what would be many more years than they _would_ have gotten than with a brand new one?

 

Jimmy leaned forward in his chair, nearly toppling it before his brother grabbed the backrest to right it again. “We can do things out here we couldn’t have before!” he said. A wide grin crossed over the Twins’ faces, and those grins were contagious as the Figments still conscious couldn’t help but copy them.

 

The humans, on the other hand, looked at them quizzically. “I would’ve thought you could do more in your plane?” Mark asked.

 

Bing shook his head. “Back home, we were limited to what we were created for. Dark was big ol’ Head Honcho. He couldn’t have done anything else. Same with the docs, the Googs—all of us.” A grin came across his face that revealed pearly-whites. “Out here… Aw, damn. I can’t even wrap my head around it, man. We can be who _we_ want to be instead’a what you created us for.”

 

A soft expression fell over Amy’s face. “So some of you weren’t happy with your place?” She received a shake of the head from both Bing and Yan, since the kids had decided to pay attention to the “adult” conversation now. “Well. What do you _want_ to be, then?”

 

“Fashion-designer!” Yan looked genuinely excited as he clapped his hands together and even bounced a little on his perch behind the Brody kids. “I didn’t even know that could _be_ a job until we came out here!”

 

“We’ve all gotten fashion advice from Yan before,” Bing said. “He’s got an awesome sense of it.” He offered the Iplier a thumbs-up and grin. “S’a good choice for ya. And how ‘bout you two?”

 

The Brodys gave each other a glance, but Kyler gestured for his sister to go first. She beamed and practically squeaked, “I’d _really_ like to be a doctor! Schneeps was _always_ teaching me things and it’s _sooo_ interesting!”

 

“And Bing and Ollie’ve taught me a thing or two about mechanics,” said Kyler. “I’d love to work on cars or somethin’.”

 

Seán had never really expanded on who the Brody kids were. Never confirmed how many Chase had, their names, nothing. While some Links would have wound up lacking personality and being very two-dimensional, the kids had grown up around Egos. Developed their own, unique, personalities and interests. They’d had more of a chance than a lot of Figments become to who they wanted to be. Their dad had been stuck as a trickshot vlogger, but the two could be what they wanted. Chase had always encouraged it, too.

 

The positivity of the room had Chica’s tail wagging lazily and both Fischbachs smiling.

 

When the Twins wound up asked, they both just sort of shrugged. “We’re actually happy where we are,” Jimmy said.

 

Jim added, “But…I think we’d like to explore our hobbies some more?” He glanced at his brother, who nodded his agreement. When asked by the Fischbachs what kind of hobbies they liked, they were both grinning. “I like sketching and photo-manipulation.”

 

“I like reading and running. Marathons would be fun!”

 

The way Mark was looking at them, one would think both had grown two heads. “You…don’t have the same hobbies?”

 

Jim honestly sounded offended; brows furrowed and lips pulling into a frown. “No?”

 

“We’re…not the same person, y’know?”

 

Bing shifted, doing his best not to disturb Chase as he changed positions. “Dude. What we were created for is one thing. They were created to be, and choose to remain, newsmen. Doesn’t mean they couldn’t have hobbies unrelated to it back home. Also, they’re twins. Not clones. If you actually spent time with ‘em, you’d know they were two different people. Fuckin’-A.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Mark had pulled his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry it came across like that, all right? I’ll admit I paid more attention to the dangerous ones ‘cause I didn’t want them hurting anyone. I…realize I didn’t really get to know the rest of you. But I’m here now, right? I’m trying! Okay? I’m trying.”

 

“Right… Right.” The tension that had creeped into the android’s shoulders melted away, and instead they sagged as if he’d run out of energy. “You’re trying. That’s…it’s all I ask, man. That you try. We’re more than just…” his lips curled in distaste; as if the word itself was poison, “characters.”

 

“I get it,” the man said. “And if it helps, I’ll start talking with you guys more. All right?”

 

“Talkin’s a good place to start.”

 

Bing relaxed back into the cushions; allowed his eyes to close for a few moments before Amy’s voice brought him back to attention.

 

“What about you?”

 

Yellow-orange eyes blinked a few times before it registered she was asking _him_. “Me? What about me?”

 

“You’re out here now. What do you want to do with your life?”

 

“Oh. I, uh…don’t know?” Bing…hadn’t really thought of it. The others had been created, developed, in ways that made them good at things. Show hosts, newsmen, doctors, leaders, you name it. Show hosts could go on to interact with people, the doctors were smart, and Dark? God, the guy could probably go on to own a monopoly! If they wanted to tackle different careers than their original purpose, they _could_. They had the skills for it, if they were just willing to learn something new. “Guess I’m content just watchin’ the kids and home.”

 

Kyler tilted his head. “We won’t need schooling forever, though. What about when we’re done?”

 

Mark leaned forward on his knees, brow arched. “You’re good with computers. What about something with that?”

 

“I’m all right with them, but don’t wanna sit behind a screen my whole life, man.” He shrugged, but grimaced when it made Chase stir a little.

 

“Then what, Bing? You were just saying how you guys had more choices out here. What are you good at?”

 

“I don’t…I don’t know.” His gaze flitted over Chase, then the Fischbacks, over to the Twins, and finally the kids and Chica before going off to the side. “I like to skate, hang with Chase, and sometimes blueprints’re fun, but…” He shrugged. Red and Green’s insistence that he wasn’t good enough buzzed in his head. “I’m not _good_ at anything, I guess. ‘Sides. I’m an android—dunno if I _could_ get a job without riskin’ being found out.”

 

“Isn’t there something? I—”

 

“Nah.” Bing waved a hand dismissively. He let a smile return, though it wouldn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll figure it out, man. Don’t worry ‘bout me, all right? I’ve got plenty of time to look into things now. For now, I’m just worried about the kids.”

 

Glowing eyes flicked up toward the television. Midnight.

 

His smile became a little more real and he chirped a happy little sound that brought laughter from human and Figment alike.

 

“I’m just indecisive—I’ll figure it out. So smile! It’s a new year!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new year to start a new life! Isn't it w̡͏̷ǫ͏n̸d͠e̕͜r̡͘f̡͡u̴l͞?


	40. Put a Ring on It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about some Jackie and Signe bonding time? This chapter was fun. <3 There’s gonna be some Bad Shite™ coming up, so something relaxing like this was nice before I have to prepare for them.  
> ["The Outside" playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)

**January 2** **nd** **, 2031, 2:00 PM**

**Brighton, England**

 

The four Brighton Egos had finally been able to return to Seán and Signe’s home since the Hansens had left. And now that they were back, the magician wasn’t as worried about hotel employees catching sight of him using magic. As a result, he’d gone straight back to trying to Track Schneeplestein. Every day, for hours at a time, he tried to pinpoint the doctor’s card. Every day, for hours at a time, he grew irritated with his inability to get a lock on it.

 

Right then, Marvin was levitating over the large guest bed of his room. He sat in midair, legs crossed over each other and aura haloing his form; eyes shut and a hand held out toward the single card floating in front of him. The Ego’s brows were scrunched as he tried to concentrate, hands shaking and sweat running down the back of his neck as he reached his breaking point.

 

Schneep was—or-or _should_ be—in Los Angeles! Why couldn’t he pinpoint a card in a _single city?_

 

Marvin started when the door opened without any forewarning, grunting as he landed on his back on the bed. He grumbled and sat up on his elbows to give the intruder a glare. It didn’t hold for long when he noticed who the “intruder” was, however.

 

“Jackie?”

 

The superhero shut the door behind himself and approached the bed. “You’ve been in here almost four hours. Take a break.”

 

“But…” Marvin tried to sit up too quickly, and his vision swam with vertigo.

 

Jackie shook his head as he took a seat on the bed. “You’re makin’ yourself sick. Y’need rest.”

 

“I don’t!” he protested. “I just… Just lemme find Schneep— _please?”_ He grabbed Jackie’s arm, eyes begging behind that mask. “I can do it, Jackie! I just need time to get—”

 

“Marvin.” The tone was even but firm. Both of them knew the magician wouldn’t argue any further with that single word. Jackie reached out to take Marvin’s mask; setting it on the nightstand once he had it removed. He cupped Marvin’s cheeks with a deepening frown, pressed the back of a hand to the other’s forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Bad. Just rest, and no magic ‘til it clears up.” Jackie carded his fingers through the other’s hair, gently guiding him to the pillow. “We’ll find ‘im. I know we will. But we don’t need you windin’ up in the hospital,” there was an unspoken _“or worse”_ in there, “to do that, all right?”

 

A tiny nod answered the superhero. It was clear Marvin wasn’t happy with the order, but was willing to listen this once.

 

“Thank you.” He squeezed Marvin’s shoulder gently, patted it, then stood. “I’ll wake you for dinner, but then I expect ya to lay back down.” As he left, he closed the door gently behind him.

 

Taking a breath, Jackie ran a hand through his hair. He’d thought he would have to be a little more forceful before Marvin had listened. That had turned out almost too easy, so he made a mental note to check in on the magician every so often to make sure he was actually resting. Now, however, he’d promised to help Signe with laundry. With six of them now under one roof rather than just the original couple, there was three times as much laundry to do, food to make, and dishes to clean. As such, the Egos had been helping out where they could to ease the burden.

 

Bare feet silent over hardwood, Jackieboy hadn’t meant to startle Signe as he’d approached from behind. The thud of the laundry basket hitting the floor was louder than Jackie had expected, and he was half tempted to peek back into the room at Marvin, but decided against it. Instead, they both laughed and the superhero stepped around the human to pick up the poor basket she’d dropped from the start.

 

“Sorry,” he chuckled. He moved the basket to a hip; held it there securely with one hand as he used the other to open the door to the laundry room.

 

The two were quiet for a while as they folded the clothes fresh from the dryer; set them aside in their respective owner’s piles. Jackie noted how some of the Egos’ style preferences had changed now that some of them couldn’t wear their original attire. There were khakis, dress shirts, and sweater-vests for Marvin. Khakis and polos for the King. A more laid-back style of suit for Bim. As for Jackie, he’d taken to jeans and flannels. Aside from Bim, their styles had changed so much. While before they would have stuck out in a crowd, now they’d blend in like any other human.

 

Jackie hadn’t realized he was grinning until Signe elbowed him and gave him a curious look. He just shook his head. “Just…” He grinned again, holding up the polo he’d been folding. “Never imagined King would wear somethin’ like this. Or how ‘bout me wearin’ flannels?” It was such a little thing, but—

 

“Maybe it’s your way of developing who you are.” She had a soft smile on her face. “Kind of a…start, to exploring something new for yourselves.”

 

A little nod from the Septic. “Maybe that’s it.” He folded the polo, set it aside with the rest of King’s clothes. There was silence for a while before, “Y’know, we gotta start lookin’ into jobs and getting our own place.”

 

“King said something about the RSPCA.” At Jackie’s quizzical look, she added, “Animal shelter.”

 

Jackie grinned. “That’d be fitting. He’d be awesome with the troubled animals.” When Signe went to on to ask something, the hero shook his head without even needing to hear. “He’s good with more than just squirrels. We’re pretty sure one of his abilities is understandin’ animals, so he’s always been real good with ‘em.”

 

“Understanding animals? That would be something!”

 

The hero laughed. “Right? God, I remember Chica used to fuckin’ love ‘im.”

 

Signe removed a pair of Marvin’s khakis from the dryer. “What do y—oops.” She set them back down and started scrabbling for something; Jackie had heard the light tinking of metal and thought he saw something bounce away from the corner of his eye. A ring?

 

“Did you lose a ring?” he asked as he bent down to help search for it.

 

A shake of the head answered. “It’s wasn’t mine. Think it fell out of Marv’s pocket.”

 

“Shit.” Jackie reached as far under the dryer as his hand would fit, then moved on to look under some of the clothes. “If it’s his,” he said, “it’ll be silver with a bright green band through the middle.”

 

“I’ve never seen him wear it. How do you know what it looks—”

 

“’Cause I got for ‘im,” the superhero interrupted. “It doesn’t fit ‘im, so he keeps it in his pocket. He doesn’t usually forget about it, but he’s been real distracted lately.”

 

The next few minutes consisted only of the sounds of hands patting the ground and the laundry basket behind pushed out of the way numerous times. Jackie ended up hit his head on the bottom of the dryer’s door hard enough for it to slam shut, while the hero himself proceeded to reel back and fall flat on his ass. He grumbled and rubbed the back of his head, but perked up when Signe reached between the two machines. His arm wouldn’t have fit in the small space, so he hadn’t even thought to look there.

 

“I…think I’ve…” She was reaching as far back as possible, nearly to the point her shoulder looked about ready to get stuck between the heavy machines. “Got it!” She pulled back with her prize looped around her index finger to make losing it again a little harder.

 

“Thank God,” Jackie murmured. “Marv would’a been pissed if it was lost.”

 

Signe studied the piece of jewelry with a little smile. “It’s really pretty.” Even if he couldn’t wear it, Marvin was good about keeping it clean; the silver shiny in the room’s bright, overhead light. The narrow green band running all the way around it bright and sparkly. “You said you got it for him? Why green?”

 

“Yeah, I did.” Jackie hummed and unbuttoned his flannel’s breast pocket. From it he produced another ring almost identical to Marvin’s, but the band on Jackie’s was an electric blue rather than green. “Y’know how humans like to use birthstones for meaningful stuff? Well, Egos do somethin’ kinda like that, but we like to use aura colors instead.” He offered up his ring to Signe. “There’s only twelve birthstones, but auras? Every single one’s unique.”

 

Signe had seen Jackie’s aura before; a mist-like cloud, and same acid-green as the band on Marvin’s ring. She tilted her head a little, eyes scanning the jewelry. “How long have you two been..?”

 

Jackie ran a hand through his hair with a grin. “’Bout…nine years? Time’s different out here, but that sounds about right.”

 

The woman startled Jackie when she suddenly grabbed his arms. “So are they like promise rings?” The superhero could only nod and murmur a little _I guess?_ , but it was enough for an excited little sound to leave Signe. Honestly, Jackie would have found it adorable if he wasn’t so caught off guard. “Jackie! That’s so sweet!”

 

Hands finding Signe’s and slowly pulling them off his shoulders, Jackie found it in himself to laugh through his surprise. “Calm down! God, you’re makin’ me blush.” He had a wide, toothy grin and, just as he’d said, a bright blush dusting his face. With his hair astray from the search for the ring and shirt collar standing up, it made for quite the sight.

 

“Okay, okay.” She was still clearly excited; couldn’t stop grinning, eyes bright, and about dropped the rings as she gave them back to Jackie. “Oh! I can take Marv to a jeweler to get his resized. But why don’t you wear yours?”

 

“It just doesn’t feel right to if Marv can’t wear his.” Jackie tucked both rings into his breast pocket and buttoned it so they’d be secured there. “And…you’d really do that?”

 

“Yes, yes!” She grabbed his shoulders again, and all Jackie could do was grin and roll his eyes.

 

“No wonder Seán loves ya. You’re fuckin’ adorable,” he laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! For those of you who may be wary about romance in the fic, there’s nothing you need to worry about because you’ll be lucky to even get a damn KISS or “I love you” from any of the couples ‘cause I suck at writing gushy romantic-y stuff anyway. :I  
> Romance is not, by any means, going to be a big focus in the fic. But with Chase/Bing and Jackie/Marv, I needed to make a choice relatively soon since it will affect some of my dialogue options for future chapters. While Bing and Chase will be remaining friends throughout the fic, I’ll admit that I’m weak for Marvelsepticeye (Jackie/Marv) and there have been hints pointing toward it throughout their chapters.  
> Fun fact: It was originally supposed to be Marv helping Signe with laundry, but Jackie decided to—  
> —An er͟ro̷r͢ has occurred. Message no l͠onge͡r available.  
> —R͝e҉͜p҉̢l̛͟a͜͜c̶i͘͟ng͘ ̛͜o̸ŗ͞i̧gi͏n̨al͢ ̵͝me̷̸̕ss̴a̛̕g͞҉e̢:̢̕  
> "҉..͞..͟.......͜..̶.͡O-͠o̕h̡,͏ Go̵d͡.͠.͜.̵.̸.͠.̧..̕...I'm̨ ̵so̷ ͡sor͢r͝y͏, ͠m̸͞e̡͠i͡n҉ ̴F̴r͏̧e͢҉u̢͜nd.҉̛͡.̷͞͠."


	41. Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Minor Injury, Abuse  
> [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
> [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hardest part about this chapter? Figuring out the title. :I Subject to change it if I can think of something better, since I’m still not very happy with it.

**January 15** **th** **, 2031, 1:22 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Mark kept casting glances to the passenger seat and rear-view. Something about having all four Googles in the same vehicle was clearly setting him on edge. It had Blue arching a brow at the man; the Upgrades giving him curious looks through the mirror from the back of the back of the van. Mark would just avert his gaze and stare down the road.

 

Oliver leaned forward, proceeding to startle their driver when his voice came from closer than Mark had expected, “Will Chase be there, too?”

 

“No. He’s studying to get a permit.”

 

The yellow Google’s shoulders sagged. From the passenger seat, Blue turned to look the Upgrade in the eyes. “Oliver. We are not going so you can converse with friends. We will be retrieving our documentation, and that will be all.”

 

Aside from the occasional trill from one of the Upgrades that had another snickering or rolling his eyes, the rest of their ride was mostly quiet. At one point, however, a shoving match between Oliver and Red was started. Over what, the two up front had no idea, and it had Green scoffing. While the yellow Upgrade was laughing, Red’s core was giving a low rumble. It…really wasn’t a very threatening sound. Blue knew what Red sounded like when he was agitated. That rumbling was more like an attempt not to laugh himself, or something that could almost be called playful.

 

The match made its abrupt end when Red curled an arm around the other’s neck and used his free hand to rub his knuckles into Oliver’s hair.

 

Mark, whose eyes had been flicking between the road and rearview, raised his brows. “They’re like teenagers.”

 

Blue cast a side-glance to the human. Was that fondness in his eyes? “They…can be immature at times, unfortunately.” His eyes flicked up to the mirror; met Oliver’s as he pulled away from Red and fixed his mussed hair. The yellow Google proceeded to grin at him before turning to Green and chirping at the other Upgrade. “Namely Red and Oliver.”

 

A chuckle from their driver. “Still can’t believe that name stuck.”

 

Now was Blue’s turn to raise his brows. “A silly typo was the reason Oliver is the way he is—all because you chose to canonize said typo.”

 

Despite the fact he had four homicidal androids in his vehicle, Mark found it in himself to grin as he pulled into the driveway.

 

The moment the van was parked, the Googles slipped on their sunglasses and filed out. Blue and Green shouldered identical computer bags, Oliver a satchel, while Red lugged a toolbox out of the back of the vehicle. There wasn’t much in it—or even any of the bags, really—but they were a start to redoing their massive collection of tools and machines left behind in the Figmental Plane.

 

As soon as they entered the home, sweatshirts and sunglasses came off and were placed neatly in the entryway, before entering the living room with their creator in the lead. Within, Amy was seated on the couch with Chica sleeping at her feet, while Bing stood from his own seat. He offered Blue an awkward sort of nod, Oliver a wide grin, and averted his gaze before his eyes could meet with the other two Upgrades’.

 

“I’ve got all your stuff done,” he said, “just want ya look it over before printing.”

 

“So we can correct your errors?” Green sneered.

 

While over a phonecall Bing would have been ready and willing to growl at the remark, with Green physically in the same room all he did was hunch his shoulders. “Can we just get this done? I’d like to go home, man.”

 

Bing didn’t wait for any of the other androids to speak; instead turning sharply on his heel and slipping into a room down the hall. Mark and Amy exchanged a look, while Blue turned to the Upgrades. To Green and Red, he ordered a crisp, “Behave yourselves,” before turning to follow the younger Iplier with clear expectations for the Upgrades to do the same.

 

They did. Of course they did; filing into the room after Blue while Red at the end shut the door behind them all. Bing was seated behind his computer, so many windows open on it that it was a wonder how it wasn’t lagging as he changed between them before finding the one he actually wanted. Blue, standing over the younger android’s shoulder, leaned in as Bing turned the laptop toward him.

 

“If anything’s wrong, it’s an easy fix,” he explained. “Just point it out an’ I’ll change it ASAP.”

 

Blue’s gaze dragged over to the other, and Bing met his eye. “You claim you have done this thirteen times before, Bingiplier. There should not _be_ mistakes.”

 

Bing snorted and grinned. “With how much of a perfectionist you are? Admit it: You’re gonna be picky as fuck.”

 

The lead Google just sighed and shook his head, continuing to scroll through his documentation. And he had to admit, he hadn’t expected Bing to go nearly as far as he had with the information. By the time he’d gone through all of his own files without finding error, the only things he noticed were missing were papers he would want to fill out on his own anyway—like a resume, for one. No way would he allow _Bing_ to write one out for him.

 

The younger android had outdone himself, really.

 

When Blue nodded approvingly, he didn’t miss the beaming smile from their document-writer. “I’m impressed.” He took a step back to allow Bing access back to his laptop. “If you would print my documentation, then the Upgrades may look through their own files.”

 

A thumbs-up from Bing before his fingers flashed over the keyboard and mousepad. The movement went on for a few minutes, printer spitting out papers all the while. Then he stood and grabbed one of the four manila envelopes that had been resting in a neat pile behind the laptop. _“Blue”_ had been written neatly on the front in black Sharpie.

 

Blue and, surprisingly, the Upgrades watched on quietly as Bing sorted through the papers the printer was ejecting; seeming to have a certain order he wanted them in. By the time he’d finished, the _“Blue Gabriel Iplier”_ birth certificate was on the very top of the stack, and then they were all carefully slid into the envelope and passed to the lead Google. “Don’t need to explain to you what everything is, so I guess…Green’s next?”

 

It was obvious Bing wanted Oliver to remain in the room and would likely print his papers off last. Blue saw no problem with it, and thought it may even keep Red and Green from distracting the other as he printed everything. “Very well. Send each one out as they’re finished.” He would admit that the room was crowded with all five of them in there. As such, he slipped out of the room. But only after giving Green and Red a long stare and another, “Behave,” that may have been a little sharp.

 

Reentering the living room, Blue took note of Mark and Amy seated side-by-side on the couch. Chica was no longer there, but the android could hear her crunching on dog food in the kitchen.

 

Blue barely had to register the fact that Red’s toolbox was in the middle of the floor as he sidestepped it to take a place on the empty love-seat. He slid his computer bag off his shoulders; pulled his laptop out and started it up without so much as a glance in the human couple’s direction. Jobs. They needed jobs.

 

The android ran across plenty of computer-based jobs he’d already been considering for weeks now. But with proper documentation and Oliver almost done with their glasses, the Googles could really start looking into things. The only problem Blue continued running across, unfortunately, were the jobs’ necessities for drug tests. Something an android couldn’t be subjected to for obvious reasons. If he could find a job that didn’t require said tests, or perhaps just a way to rig them—

 

Blue was dragged from his musings by Mark’s voice as it was directed at him: “You ever think you’re too hard on them?” When the android didn’t respond, Mark pressed on, “Whenever I’d visit back in your plane, the four of you were always— _always—_ working your asses off. Yeah, sometimes Oliver would be off doing his own thing, but that was it. Do they ever just…get to breathe?”

 

“We are machines, Fischbach. We can work far longer than you or the other Egos before exhaustion sets in. They’re allowed rest when they can no longer run at optimal capacity, and the stretches of time they can go without a ‘breather’ is different for each of them. You needn’t fret—I make them step away when necessary.” Blue’s eyes slid back to the screen even though he was quite certain Mark would speak again. It was in the man’s nature, after all.

 

The Google was admittedly surprised when the man didn’t speak again. Not even when Green left the office with his own document-filled envelope and seated himself on the opposite end of the couch from the couple. He didn’t speak again until well after Blue’s focus had fully returned to his computer.

 

“What about your…Secondary Objective..?” The question was halting; as if Mark expected just the mere thought of it to trigger some form of reaction. Blue didn’t need to look up to know that Mark, Amy, and even Green were giving him looks. Simple attention from the Upgrade because he was aware the lead Google would be speaking, and hesitance from the humans.

 

Blue leaned forward in his seat; arched a brow when it had the humans flinching away from him. “We were created at killers, Fischbach. But that was while within the Figmental Plane. ‘Mankind’ within our plane were the non-Ego Figments crowding the Shepherd’s city that neighbored Incorporated.” He nodded to the window looking out into the street; cars going past, pedestrians on jogs or walks, or chatting on corners. Neighbor kids playing in their yards with each other or their canines. Blue’s gaze followed a cop as it drove past; his hand raising to point it out.

 

“Out here, we understand the danger we would put not only ourselves, but the others, in if we chose to so much as attempt to follow through with our Objective.”

 

“We were created as extremely intelligent,” Green added at his gaze returned to his laptop. “We would not make such a stupid decision to get ourselves found out or killed.” His lip twisted into a frown as he went on with, “I can’t say the same will go for Warfstache.”

 

Blue continued, “There were no laws in the Figmental Plane. We could do whatever we wished, and the only repercussions would be if the others—or our creators—did not take kindly to our actions.”

 

A look was exchanged between the humans. “So going from ‘we can kill literally as many people as we want without getting in trouble’ to ‘possibly being arrested for just walking down the street wrong’ must be… Oof.” Mark shook his head.

 

Blue only offered a nod, then proceeded to thoroughly startle both humans and the Upgrade when his eyes flared and he practically lunged to his feet.

 

“Blue..?” Green ventured as he scrambled to follow the lead Google as Blue cut toward the office.

 

The only explanation Blue offered was, “Red is distressed,” before entering the office and promptly closing the door in Green’s face.

 

From the sight to greet him, it was a wonder how he hadn’t gotten an alert from Oliver, as well. He was growling at the eldest Upgrade, standing protectively over the grounded Bing. While Bing clutched his shoulder and kept chirping in an attempt to get Oliver to calm down, Red himself looked taken aback as he held an awkwardly twisted hand to his chest.

 

That was new.

 

“What is the problem here?” Three brightly glowing sets of eyes flicked toward Blue, as if only just noticing he’d entered.

 

“Oliver broke my hand?” There was disbelief to Red’s voice; his brows furrowed and lips parted, eyes almost comically wide. Blue had a hard time suppressing his own surprise at the accusation. _Oliver_ did that to Red’s hand? That would explain Red’s distress, at least.

 

The Upgrade in question let out another growl. “You broke Bing’s arm! _Again!”_

 

“Bing needs to watch its mouth!”

 

“You need to watch your _temper!”_

 

“Enough.” Blue’s voice was even, somehow calm over the shouting, but both Upgrades ducked their their heads and quieted. “Bingiplier. What happened here?”

 

“ _Me?_ Ah…Red was just—Red. Y’know the shit he an’ Green say to me. I got sick of it and told ‘im to shut up. Didn’t exactly word it that nicely, though.” Bing rubbed the back of his neck then shifted, pulling his legs closer to himself and wincing as the motion made his arm move. “He grabbed my arm, I tried pullin’ away, and somethin’ in my shoulder snapped. He still wouldn’t let go, so Ollie grabbed his hand and must’ve twisted it wrong since I think I heard his wrist break. That’s it, man.”

 

“See?” Red muttered. “Bing’s fault. Just like it always is.”

 

“Google_R,” Red’s shoulders sagged at the name, “living room. You will remain seated and silent until we leave.”

 

Though Red looked about ready to argue, he seemed to think better of it, ducked his head, and slunk out of the room. Blue made to follow, but stopped at a low whine from Bing. Oliver was trying to remove the other’s sweatshirt so he could get to the damaged arm, but not exactly making progress.

 

A single, fluid motion, brought Blue down to one knee at Oliver’s side. “Retrieve Red’s toolbox and your bag.” A little nod and the Upgrade was darting out of the office. They could repair Red’s hand at any point. Bing, on the other hand, wouldn’t have anyone to repair his shoulder if the Googles were to leave without doing so. That made the priority of the two obvious in Blue’s mind.

 

He reached for the younger android’s undamaged arm; helped Bing slip it out of his sweatshirt. It would have just been easier to cut the fabric off of him, but Bing would need it intact for when he headed home, so the “hard way” it would have to be. …Home. Blue wondered what it meant for the other android. Hotel? Apartment? Clearly, he and his group were no longer with the Fischbachs. What place or series of rooms were their “home”?

 

Side-eyeing Oliver when he’d returned with the requested items and pulled the leader from his musings, Blue proceeded to push Bing’s head into a ducked position, and was able to pull the fabric off with a final motion.

 

The default proceeded to give a sheepish grin. “Sorry, man. If it wasn’t my shoulder, I’d just fix it myself.”

 

A scoff from Oliver. “Remember the _last_ time you tried to fix your own shoulder?”

 

“That’s why I’m not doin’ it,” he laughed, even as Oliver leaned in to cut the synthetic skin away from Bing’s shoulder for access to the damage. “Oh! Uh, Blue, if you wanna print off Red’s stuff? Should all be ready.”

 

Printing off Red’s files was easy enough even as the other two bantered during Bing’s repairs. Blue would admit, however, that Bing’s travel laptop was awkward under his hands; almost half the size of his own. Where his fingers should have naturally positioned with his own laptop, that put them over the wrong keys with Bing’s. At least the printing was done soon enough that Blue didn’t have to deal with it for long.

 

Laughter from Bing drew attention back to them from the eldest. “ _Of course_ you’re brothers, dude!” Blue felt his brows raise at the “accusation.” Undoubtedly, Oliver’s expression must have been similar. “Ya bicker, tease, and I _know_ you’d fuckin’ kill for each other.”

 

Oliver shoved his uninjured shoulder good-naturedly with a roll of the eyes. “Doesn’t make us brothers. We’re _androids:_ We can’t be brothers!”

 

“Yeah right.” Bing copied the action with a tooth-baring grin. “You three are fuckin’ triplets, an’ then ya got Big Bro Blue lookin’ out for all of ya.” When Bing glanced up and met Blue’s eyes, his grin only widened. “You’re not convincin’ me otherwise. You’re brothers. That’s final.”

 

The Upgrade dropped his tool and proceeded to ruffle Bing’s hair into near-knots. “Sappy loser!” he laughed. He hadn’t laughed much since they’d been Outside, Blue realized. Not nearly as much as he used to.

 

Bing just grinned and tried to finger-comb the tangles back out of his hair. “Sappy loser? Don’t you know it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah, for the Upgrades “Google_R/G/Y” is the equivalent of the middle name from an irritated parent/significant other. XD  
> Why don't-don--e̴rr͘o̷͟r
> 
> ".͜.͟..n͠e͝e͞ḑn'͠t̶ ̷w̛or҉r̨y.͢..̧..̡y̕o̕u̸'̷re ş̕a̶͞͡f̸̡e ̨h͜e҉ŗe͢~"


	42. Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, Mentioned Eye Gore/Infection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’m Mick and I had no idea what to do for this chapter because my original plan had to be moved to a different part of the fic, and I’ve been sick so there would be a delay regardless. Aaaand there will probably be a delay in the next chapter, too. Nothing bad, though! ^^ My online friend's birthday is coming up, so I'd like to draw her something next weekend. <3

**January 21** **st** **, 2031, 5:24 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Jameson had finally taken the initiative to charge his phone. Good thing, too.

 

As it turned out, Marvin had been trying to contact the duo. Anti’s glitching had been preventing the messages from getting through (again), while Jameson…well. He was Jameson. He’d dropped his in the street a few days ago, and a motorcycle had almost run it over. Anti was the one who about had a heart attach, while the younger Septic had merely shrugged it off. It was a possession he clearly didn’t care all that much for.

 

“So.” Marvin had his hands on his hips. He’d teleported to the Fischbachs, and then Mark had driven him to the hotel Anti and Jameson were staying at. Problem was: He did it on his own accord. They hadn’t been expecting him, let alone so early. The glitch was still dead asleep on his bed, and Jameson had only awoken to his phone ringing from under his pillow so Marvin could ask to be let into the hotel.

 

Jameson couldn’t help but notice the magician had bags under his eyes and that his hair was alarmingly greasy. The strong scent of cologne was practically permeating from Marvin as if he’d hoped it would cover the obvious smells of not having showered in a few days. The youngest pursed his lips and opted not to mention it.

 

“How do you say we wake him?” the magician asked, gesturing to Anti’s sleeping form.

 

Common sense would have said not to startle him. But waking Anti from a dead sleep would startle him regardless of the method used.

 

Jameson just shrugged, flicked his wrists, and let his Helping Hands appear in front of himself. At least if the glitch lashed out at those, he thought, neither him nor the magician would be injured. The Hands were identical to his own, right down to the little scar on the left one from his debut video, and faded away to nothing right after the cuffs of their sleeves.

 

A little nod from the elder of the two before Marvin’s hands found Jameson’s shoulders to pull him farther from Anti’s bed. The younger nearly lost his balance when Marvin pushed him back lightly so he could stand in front of the gentleman. “Go ahead.”

 

The audible slap to the side of Anti’s face had Marvin covering his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter. As soon as that sound was heard, Anti was gone; glitched out of his bed and pressed in the corner nearest it with teeth bared and knife brandished.

 

“J-Jamie!” Through his laughter, it was really more of a squeak. “You were s’posed to wake him: _Not_ give ‘im a fuckin’ heart attack!”

 

The youngest only grinned in response and flicked his wrists so the Hands would dissipate. Anti, however, still didn’t relax; green eyes set on Marvin as if he were an intruder.

 

To Anti he _was_ an intruder, Jameson realized. He’d only known it was Marvin because of the phonecall. Neither him, nor the glitch, had known what he looked like because they hadn’t seen the magician since before coming Outside.

 

“It’s Marv, dumbass,” the magician grinned, waving his hand and producing his mask out of thin air so he could slip it over his face; the action also making his aura visible for a brief moment and confirming his identity.

 

“Wh—” Anti blinked, straightened, blinked again. “What the _hell_ are ya doin’ here?”

 

“First of all:” Marvin held up a finger, “You sound real fuckin’ weird when your voice isn’t glitchy.” Jameson giggled at that, causing the magician to jump and whirl around. He looked like he was about to scold the youngest for the startle, but a grin that kept tugging at his lips said otherwise. “Uh…new second: Jamie, that laugh’s adorable. You better not fuckin’ mute yourself.”

 

Anti’s knife dissolved in a burst of particles. _“Marvin._ Why the fuck are ya here?”

 

“Okay. Okay.” The magician ran a hand through his hair, knocking his mask askew. “So, I contacted Bing and got ‘im to pinpoint Schneep’s phone again. He went and found it and now…ah…where the hell’d I put it…” Marvin teleported away, successfully startling Jameson as it caused a burst of confetti to rain down on the youngest.

 

The two left behind could only exchange a look. “…Scatterbrained much?” the glitch muttered.

 

“ _Exhausted,”_ Jameson’s speech slide corrected. He shook his head to get the confetti out of his hair, even as he knew it would fade away shortly. _“Overworked. He’s attempting to Track Schneeplestein, yes? Looks as though he hasn’t slept or showered in days.”_

 

“You really think Jackie’d let ‘im do that?”

 

A shrug from the youngest. _“If Marvin’s mind is set to it, pulling him away would be no easy task lest Jackie physically drags him to bed.”_

 

Both glanced to the magician when he appeared back in the room with a plastic bag in his possession. He shoved the bag into Anti’s hands with a hopeful glint in his eye. “Bing said the memory chip’s gone so he couldn’t do anything, but…you think you can get somethin’ out of it?”

 

The glitch looked at the bag’s contents with a deepening frown and shake of the head. “This fuckin’ thing’s destroyed. Whatever the hell happened, I’ll either hurt myself or get stuck in it if I even _tried_ goin’ in.”

 

“But—”

 

“No. ‘Sides. Schneep only used ‘is phone for keepin’ in touch with us; it wouldn’t have anything in it that we didn’t already know about.”

 

“We haven’t even heard from ‘im in almost two months! _Please!_ There’s gotta be something we can do!”

 

Jameson stepped between the two, a slide floating in front of him. The words showed up on both sides, allowing both older Septics to read it, _“We…could try Dr. Iplier? They were always close, and perhaps he knows something we don’t?”_

 

Behind that mask, Marvin’s eyes widened. “But…who do you think he’s with?”

 

Anti rolled his eyes and crossed his arms after tossing the busted device on his bed. “Doc’s probably with Host. If Host’s there, that means Dark. If Dark’s there?”

 

“Wilford!” The magician scrabbled for his cellphone, eventually finding it in his back pocket.

 

While Marvin moved toward the door to talk with the Iplier, Jameson wandered over to the dresser and pulled out a clean change of clothes. Before he could even consider to start changing, however, Anti throwing up his hands caught the youngest’s attention.

 

“Where’re you goin’?”

 

“ _Well. Surely Marvin will drag us along to see the doctor?”_ He slipped off his night shirt, swapping it with a white button-up. He did the same with the matching bottoms of the pajama set; opting for a dark pair of dress pants that he tucked his shirt into with practiced hands. _“I suggest dressing before we head on over. Surely you wouldn’t want to be somewhere possibly public in your undergarments!”_ By the time Jameson was fitting his vest on, Anti grumbled on over and dug through one of the drawers for his own clothes.

 

Marvin hung up, then appeared to start texting while Anti groaned and grumbled about it being too early. “This’s Room 218, right?” Jameson was the one to nod. Marvin gave a hum of acknowledgment, thumbs flashing over his phone screen. “Okay, Will should be here—oh. That was quick.”

 

Anti lunged away from the dresser, tripping over the jeans he only had on partway, in an attempt to get out of range of the bright glitter that rained down around Wilford. “For fuck’s sake, Warfstache,” he growled. A pause, then, _“Warfstache?”_

 

The Iplier was wearing almost all black dress attire; the only exception being his pink bow and a gray vest. But even the vest was covered in thin black swirls with the exception of brightly colored charms hanging from its pockets. What _really_ caught their attention was the complete lack of pink mustache. No, instead it was colored naturally and bushy rather than curled at the corners; graying like his hair that also didn’t have a hint of pink in it.

 

“That’s…quite the look?” Marvin ventured.

 

Jameson, on the other hand, grinned. _“Stealing my fashion sense?”_ he teased as he tugged his own vest straight.

 

A shrug and smirk were all Wilford offered at first. His eyes flicked about the room briefly, brow raising as his gaze landed on the glitch. Anti’s shirt had tangled with itself, and Jameson snickered as the eldest Septic started cursing at it before finally slipping it over his head.

 

“So what’s with the getup?” Marvin asked as he dragged his gaze away from the glitch.

 

Another shrug. “Interview at seven. Dark said I gotta look nice, but he won’t be there when we arrive. Oh, and Doc’s still sleepin’.” He didn’t wait for anyone else to say something; instead opting to teleport the four of them into another hotel room.

 

Marvin and Wilford, both beyond used to long-distance teleporting, were easily able to maintain their balance when their feet hit carpeted floor once more; the other two weren’t so lucky and stumbled. Anti caught himself on the edge of the TV stand, while Jameson felt a hand around his bicep as he tripped over someone’s feet. That hand steadied him, then pulled away to pick up the abandoned pen at its owner’s side and he went right back to writing.

 

While the Host didn’t seem surprised by the entrance of three “strangers,” Dr. Iplier had yelped and kicked the footstool he’d previously been usingover when Marvin’s cape brushed his face.

 

Well, Jameson _assumed_ the one in the chair was Dr. Iplier, at least. Wilford had said he was sleeping, and he and the other who was clearly Host were the only ones in the room.

 

“Wilford!” The doctor scrubbed at his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair. He grumbled, checked the time, then perked up and started pushing Wilford toward the door. “Your interview’s in twenty minutes, you’ve got to walk, and Mr. Flynn did not seem the waiting type from what I heard over the phone! Get going! Dark’ll meet you there.” He tore a white parka away from where it had been hanging and shoved it into the older Iplier’s hands. “Wear this and keep your vest on. Now get!”

 

Brows raised and head tilting, Jameson couldn’t help a little snicker at the doctor’s frustrated huff.

 

Fingers combing through his bedhead, the doctor turned to the Septics with a frown over his face. “Who’s who, and what do you need?”

 

After giving their names, Jameson was the one to step forward. _“We…were hoping you’ve been in contact with Schneeplestein?”_

 

Seating himself at the desk and leaning an elbow on it, Doc shook his head. “Henrik and I…haven’t been on the best terms lately. I’ve been giving him space, but when he wants to call me—”

 

“Doc. Schneep broke his phone and did somethin’ to his card.” Marvin crossed his arms; pulled them tight against his chest. “He-he can’t contact _anyone_ , and we’ve got no fuckin’ idea where he is!”

 

“…What?” The doctor’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “Haven’t you tried Tracking him..?”

 

“I’m _trying.”_ Marvin’s voice cracked. Jameson moved to the magician’s side; squeezed his hand. “I-I can’t get through to his card ‘cause he did somethin’ to it!”

 

The youngest watched as that information sank in for the doctor. As his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, brows scrunched and eyes not daring to meet the Septics’. “But…” He dragged his palms over his pants, curled them back into fists. “He’s… _missing?_ That’s not…” A shake of the head. “I—”

 

“We gotta find ‘im, Doc,” Anti interrupted. He had his knife in his hands; fingers dancing along the back edge of it so he wouldn’t risk slicing them open on the chipped, sharp edge of the blade. “You’ve got any suggestions, we’re all ears.”

 

“ _Please,”_ Jameson pressed as he pulled away from Marvin. _“Please. We’re stuck in a rut. We need a new opinion; new ideas. We just want our doctor back.”_

 

All eyes shifted to the Host as he raised his head. “The doctor recalls the medical files he chose to bring along.” Dr. Iplier perked up; his gaze flicking toward the chair he’d been sleeping in only minutes ago. “He recalls that Dr. Schneeplestein’s is one of many within that bag.” The doctor nearly knocked the desk chair over as he scrambled to his feet over to the chair; dragging his bag out from behind it. “He recalls something Dr. Schneeplestein requested he keep quiet about. Something that may make the search a little more possible.”

 

Jameson shifted to look over the doctor’s shoulder as he flicked through one of the side pockets of his bag. When Dr. Iplier stood, the Septic huffed when his height forced Jameson to scurry around to his side; Marvin towering behind him and glitch. Jameson didn’t have to see the magician’s face to feel the hope in his eyes.

 

At his side, Anti started to ask, “Y’know, I thought patient confi—”

 

“Screw patient confidentiality,” the doctor growled as he tore through the folder. Some things were in his own handwriting, some in Schneep’s; mostly English with a page or two entirely in German. A lot of notes; Jameson caught words or brief sentences detailing some of Schneep’s past injuries or illnesses as Doc went through the folder on a search for something in particular.

 

When he found what he was looking for and set the papers out for them to see, Jameson grimaced and turned his face away. It took him a moment to steel himself and try for another peek of that first image.

 

The damage—infection, the paper said—to the eye in the picture made his stomach churn. It was bloodshot and Jameson didn’t even know how to describe the color of the sclera, but it certainly wasn’t white. It almost looked as though something had tried to split it open or eat it awaystarting from the pupil, but had stopped just before reaching the edge of the iris. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat; his own eye throbbing at the mere thought of whatever was wrong with that one happening to it.

 

“You Septics,” the doctor said as he arranged the papers, “are prone to severe eye infection; all because of your creator’s username.” They knew that already; Schneep always kept such a close watch on them when they got pinkeye, or even just a black eye! Doc’s fingers thrummed over the desk before he pulled one page in particular forward; pushed it toward the Septics. “We don’t know what he looks like now, but this wouldn’t change.”

 

Behind his mask, Marvin’s eyes grew wide. “That… That’s a glass eye!”

 

“Fuck…” Anti murmured. “How long’s he had it?”

 

“In three months makesfifteen years.”

 

Jameson leaned in to look at the page with the glass eye’s images. They were meant to look real; to keep others from being able to tell that the original was gone. The color matched Schneep’s perfectly; right down to the little, darker flecks around the pupil that Jameson and Jackie used to share with him. But Schneep had hidden that for _fifteen_ _years?_ Jameson hadn’t even been created yet.

 

“He…thought it was pinkeye,” Marvin said as his brows furrowed. “Wore an eyepatch for three weeks so we wouldn’t catch it.”

 

Any eye infection the Septics got, no matter how minor it should have been…they’d all been told it could cost them an eye. Had any of them realized Schneep’s warning came from experience, rather than just him being careful?

 

The doctor nodded. “Misdiagnosis. We should’ve treated it immediately, not covered it.” He tapped the image of the fake; gave the Septics a pointed look.

 

“ _There’s chance he’ll appear to have heterochromia.”_ Jameson’s slide appeared closer to the Host than the rest of the crowded group, but they all glanced to it regardless.

 

“A high chance,” the doctor added. “From what I’ve noticed so far, none of our eyes have been the same. Even if they’re in the same range of color, there’s details that are different.”

 

Details that made them their own, rather than copies their creators’.

 

Anti’s knife fizzled out of existence. “You seriously think this’s gonna help?”

 

Jameson nudged him with a scowl. _“It’s more than what we’ve had to work with.”_ He grabbed Marvin’s hand; gave it an assuring squeeze. _“We’ll find him, and this is a step in that direction.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’ve had that headcanon forever but didn’t want to write it anywhere because that would’ve spoiled it for the fic!  
> -  
> Also, I wanted Marvin to find out about Incorporated in this chapter, but it didn’t work out. Hopefully another ti̸—  
> T̡҉im͏̵͏e̴͜—̵  
> —̨҉E̴̸r̶͝r͜͠ǫ̵͢r.͜͞  
> "͡H̶̨a͞v̸̛e͜ ҉̴̸w̢͡e̷͏ me̶ţ҉ ̶͞b̢͡e̷f̕͡o͢r̨͠e͢?҉"̶͠


	43. In Over Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Insults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, Jacques doesn’t know about Infelix because whenever Silver would try to bring it up our artist either wouldn’t even be there, or tell him to shut up (surprise, surprise). :I And it’s been so long now, guess who completely forgot he never told Jacques? Whoops.

**January 27** **th** **, 2031, 1:33 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

For the past month, every time Jacques caught Silver or Roxanne glancing to his sketchbook, he’d pull it close. Cover the image with his hand or the pages before it; tilt it so the image was pressed to his chest, only to curse himself for it later when it caused smudges.

 

He was adding every detail he could remember to the image. The hair needed to be just right. The eyes—dark, he remembered. Brown? The makeup trailing under them. Adding little things on the sides; tidbits of information: “Teleporter.” “Temper(?)” “Who?”

 

How did he know Ed? What had been wrong with Ed in the first place?

 

The artist shook his head. Why was he even worried in the first place. Honestly, without Ed he’d be better off. Safer. But he had such a bad feeling. It wasn’t right. That either hadn’t been Ed at all, or something was seriously wrong with him. What’s to say the same thing wouldn’t happen to one of the others? To Jacques?

 

He knit his brows, glowered at the lamp when it flickered right around when he heard a yelp from Silver. Had the superhero stubbed his toe again? The artist didn’t bother looking up when he caught Silver from the corner of his eye. He just drew his book closer.

 

“Have you showered?” the Iplier asked. He was scrubbing a towel through his hair to dry it; loose sweatpants on and bare back to the artist as he texted with his free hand. The hero’s back was littered with scar tissue, but Silver didn’t seem to notice or care.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Eaten?”

 

“…No.”

 

Silver tossed his phone on his bed and draped the towel over his shoulders so he could find a tee-shirt. “Why don’t you run downtown and get somethin’ to eat?”

 

“Do we not have anything here?”

 

“Nope. Roxy said she’d pick some stuff up, but it could be a while before she gets back.”

 

Roxanne had gone with Amy to drop off papers with Bing so he could work on documents. The artist had given up his attempt to do anything legal document-related, but as it turned out the android had done them for practically everyone by that point. Why _Bing_ was doing it instead of the Googles was beyond Jacques, but he’d dropped it as soon as the question arose.

 

Closing his book and holding it close, Jacques slid out of his bed. He waited for the inevitable “make sure your phone’s on you” and “be careful” that the superhero always gave. While Jacques did find it annoying, he’d started growing numb to it and reacted with less snapping and more “whatevers” and “fines.” It was the same thing every time Jacques needed to get out to get away from the two for a while. And sure enough, it came as he was slipping his shoes on.

 

“Make sure you’ve got your phone. Don’t be gone too late and—”

 

“Be careful. Yeah, yeah. Fine.” Jacques held his sketchbook close, made sure to grab a spare pencil and stuffed a sharpener and his wallet in his pockets, then slipped out the door before Silver could add anything.

 

The artist made his way to Marlow’s. He knew where it was, was familiar with the menu and employees by now since it’s where he’d been going most of the times he left the motel. It was easier than trying someplace new, after all. Plus, it had secure Internet for a reasonable price along with food and some of the best coffee Jacques had had.

 

Upon entry, the artist did as always: Scanned the cafe for an empty area; let his gaze linger maybe a bit too long on anyone who happened to catch his attention. Today, it was a woman at the counter. She wore a pencil skirt and fancy button-up, looking like she’d just come from some corporate meeting and clearly out of place among who Jacques had come to see as regulars in the cafe. She was arguing with the barista—Iffy, was it?—both using hushed tones as if whatever the problem was was some big secret.

 

Another employee scurried out of the kitchen, skirting around Iffy with an “oh, not again” look plastered across her face before she forced a smile at Jacques. “Sorry about that. What can I get you?” The artist blinked, shook his head, and stepped toward the counter to give his order, took a ticket, and went to find a place to sit until his number was called.

 

Booting up both YouTube (damn. Never though he would use _that_ again) and another tab in Google, Jacques flipped his sketchbook to the drawing, setting his pencils on top. His “fixation” for the last month.

 

He didn’t even know where to begin. That Ego could have been anyone’s. It could have been a YouTuber’s who Jacques had never heard of, or just some character an actor had played for a film. As far as he knew, it could have even been a Septic or Iplier. That left _millions_ of possibilities, none of which the artist could be certain about.

 

All he had to work with was that makeup. How could he even search that? “Makeup circles around the eyes”? Right off the top of his head, he knew two Egos who could pop up with that search—surely there would be hundreds, if not thousands, more. If it even searched what he intended it to. For all he knew, it could link him to makeup removers.

 

When the female employee called his number, Jacques pushed away from his table to get his sandwich and coffee. He glanced at Iffy and the corporate woman—still deep in their argument—before shaking his head and returning to his place.

 

He set his items down, then knit his brows. Where were his pencils? He grumbled and pushed out of his chair again, hitting hands and knees so he could search the floor. He wound up bumping the man seated at the table behind him and mumbled an apology as he snatched the pencils that had wound up by the man’s feet.

 

Dragging himself back to his feet, he apologized again. The man, face shielded rather effectively with a hoodie and baseball cap, smiled reassuringly before turning back to his buddies: A burly man Jacques had seen in the cafe a number of times—cop, right? he wasn’t in uniform, but Jacques was pretty sure it was something along those lines—and a smaller one with sunglasses and a beanie who honestly looked like he could be a teenager if not for the creases cornering his eyes.

 

They certainly had…interesting senses of fashion what with two wearing sunglasses indoors and all three wearing their caps low over their faces. And they were _really_ smiley. All three of them kept grinning and laughing. Kind of reminded him of Chase, Bing, and the Twins.

 

Jacques turned back to his seat and started his search.

 

Dark popped up once in his search, and the artist couldn’t help but scoff. Of course he had with that stupid eyeliner.

 

…Okay, that couldn’t be blamed on Dark, Jacques admitted to himself. It was permanent on him, like a tattoo.

 

He got Virgil Sanders multiple times. A shake of the head. He’d never met the guy, but the makeup didn’t match whatsoever. And wasn’t Virgil anxiety incarnate? So would he really be the one to initiate any sort of conflict?

 

Jacques rubbed at his temples, then jumped when Iffy shouted from the counter as the corporate woman stalked away. “Read the damn sign next time, Jane! No _dogs_ allowed!” It was sneered. The type of sneer that insinuated deeper meaning than the words alone.

 

The man with the baseball cap stood up and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder just as she…

 

…Did she really just bare her teeth at the barista?

 

“Oh, shut up,” the man growled back, “only dog here’s you, _mate._ ”

 

The younger of his buddies snorted before covering his mouth, while the other barked a laugh. Jacques couldn’t help but eye the group a moment as the man sat back down and the woman, out of place among their grungy sweatshirts and ripped jeans, joined them. There was clearly some sort of history between them and the barista, and it was almost laughable seeing that corporate-looking woman sitting there like she was one of the guys. A shake of the head and the artist turned back to his research. Focus, he scolded himself.

 

Egyptians. Bandits. Superheroes and villains. The occasional YouTube Ego searched for the first time in possibly years. Out of the nearly two hundred results he’d already looked at, none of them matched the makeup that Ego had. Jacques was _scouring_ movies, and TV shows, and YouTube. No luck.

 

Nothing matched.

 

The artist nearly smashed what remained of his sandwich in his frustration. Instead of the food, a flat palm hit the mouse. Accidentally clicked on something by Random Encounters: “FNAF the Musical.”

 

One of the men behind him spluttered and started coughing on his drink. It startled the artist. Caused another miss-click on a channel name in the Recommended section.

 

NateWantsToBattle.

 

Nathan Sharp.

 

Jacques’s brows raised. He’d completely forgotten about the guy. Nathan had Egos back before he got as famous as he was now. While for a lot of the YouTubers, loss of fame was what killed their Egos, it had been the opposite for Nathan. His music career just grew, and grew, and kept growing until he became a name like AC/DC, or Linkin Park, or Lady Gaga in that most people had at least heard his name. His fans had started coming only for the music, and his Egos—like the Phantom, FNAF security guard, and poor android from a music video who never even got a name—grew forgotten. The Phantom, the artist remembered, had been a close friend to Dark and the Host, and he’d faded right before Dark’s eyes.

 

…And Nathan had one with makeup that matched the Ego who had taken Ed.

 

Eyes wide, Jacques started searching the channel. He needed to find out who it was. He needed—there! That makeup was a spot-on match. A little more searching revealed the name Natemare. Jacques had heard the name; just never knew what the guy looked like. Now, he knew not only what Natemare had originally looked like, but what he did among the humans, too!

 

He leaned back in his chair; grinned for the first time in what had to be… Damn. When _was_ the last time he’d smiled?

 

Jacques had figured it out himself. He hadn’t gone to the androids, or told Silver so everyone else would wind up knowing. He’d done it all on his own.

 

Picking up one of his pencils, he erased the “Who?” on his drawing, but when he flipped it around to write the name it nearly tore a hole in the page. The tip was broken, so he reached for the other—only to curse softly in French when that one was in much the same shape. The tips had probably broken off when they’d rolled off the table. No big deal. He just needed his…his… Where was his pencil sharpener? He patted his pockets down, glowering when all he came up with was his wallet and cellphone. Hadn’t he brought it?

 

Grumbling, Jacques got up and approached the counter. Maybe they had a pen he could borrow.

 

Returning to his place after the female employee had found a spare pen in her apron pocket, Jacques scribbled on his palm until the ink started working. When he leaned down to write on the image, his heart leaped into his throat.

 

The tabs had been closed out on the computer, and picture ripped out of his book.

 

The only one close enough to have been able to do it in the time it took to get the pen would have been the man with the baseball cap who currently had his back to the artist. His buddies, on the other hand, were eyeing up the Septic.

 

The woman leaned forward, arms crossing on the table in front of her, as she met Jacques’s eyes.

 

“You’re in over your head,” she muttered. It was soft, barely audible to the artist.

 

A shake of the head and Jacques gathered up his sketchbook and pencils, made sure he still had his phone and wallet. He needed to go. Now.

 

The burly man produced something from his pocket, and proceeded to toss it at Jacques before he could get too far from the table. The artist juggled the item until catching it against his chest, then looked from it, to the man, in disbelief. His sharpener!

 

He took a step back. The cafe seemed too loud. Other patrons chattering away and oblivious to what went on in the corner. Three of the four were watching him: The woman, the burly man, and the one he was _certain_ had taken that page.

 

It was strange how the teenage-looking one was the one really setting Jacques’s hair on end. He’d barely moved from where he sat; fingers locked loosely together on the table in front of him. Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t looking directly at Jacques, but rather somewhere off to the side of the artist, when he spoke that scared him. It was like the Host’s empty stare and soft narrations. The sunglasses really didn’t help the image. Nor did the shock of fading orange hair sticking out from under the beanie at the same side as the Host’s streak of blonde.

 

“Stay out of this,” the youngest-looking said. _“_ _Ce ne sont pas tes affaires.”_ His voice matched his appearance: Young and soft. But…flawless French? To his English was the lilt of an accent—Irish, Jacques was positive of it!—yet Jacques couldn’t hear it with his French whatsoever. It didn’t seem right. Like when the androids spoke anything other than English perfectly.

 

It was unnatural.

 

…Robotic.

 

Another android?

 

Heart pounding, Jacques bolted; startling a few patrons as he fought with the door. The burly man went to stand, but his buddy with the baseball cap placed a hand on his arm, shook his head. Jacques couldn’t see the man’s face under that cap and hoodie, but he could feel that stare until he got the door open and ran.

 

No more hiding this. He _had_ to tell Silver.

 

He was in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/) | [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
>  Congrats! Quite a few of you guessed Natemare was the one who took Ed, and you were very much correct!  
> *wiggles eyebrows* Aaaand you also just met the prequel’s main cast. ;P  
> So the question is: W̷h҉o̵ ̴a͟r҉e̢ ̸t͠he͜y̧?  
> Are they t̷͞ḩe͞ ͟͟"̧͠g̷͞o̕o͘d͘ ̶guy͘ş̶"̛͢?̡͞  
> O͟r̛͠ ͢t̷̸͘h͞e ͏͡"̴̕͡b̡͞ad͠"̸?͠҉̶


	44. You're Safe Here Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Character Injury, Blood, Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz) | [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/)  
>  I’m sorry! This was supposed to be done by noon, but I got distracted with [a new AU idea!](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/post/178611663992/shattered-glass-au-anybody) XD

**February 3** **rd** **, 2031,** **11:21 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

The doctor glanced down when a ball rolled toward him and bounced softly off the side of his foot. It was hard to suppress the smile as he knelt down to pick it up. It was a foam ball with a chunk taken out of it. A toy he’d grown familiar with over the weeks. A toy that would soon be gone since the Wilhelms would soon be gone. Last he heard, all that was left before they were to move into their new home was for the painting and final inspections to be finished.

 

Scanning around himself as he stood, Schneep locked eyes with little Jed and laughed as the boy hopped and held his hands up to catch the ball.

 

Tossing it, he watched as the child caught it against his chest and proceeded to giggle. Schneep just shook his head with a soft chuckle as the boy skipped over.

 

“Now,” the doctor said, “isn’t your father looking for you?”

 

“Nope!” When the boy’s name was called out almost immediately after, he offered a sheepish grin. “…Um. Maybe?”

 

“Come on, then.” Holding out a hand, the child latched onto it with a little more energy than the doctor had admittedly expected. He huffed a laugh and slouched down so the boy could actually reach without being lifted from the ground.

 

It really wasn’t hard to find Mr. Wilhelm off in the corner and speaking with some volunteers. He had a box at his feet and toddler draped over his back—clearly fast asleep.

 

“We’re going soon,” Jed explained as he looked up. “Our apartment is _all_ done!”

 

Schneep’s smile was soft, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “That’s very good, little Jed!”

 

It was easy to hide his hurt from the child. Two months without contact with the others. Two months, and the only ones he’d dared to connect with were the Wilhelms and Max. He would be losing contact with both parties soon enough. One for obvious reasons. The other, because Schneep would soon be getting more hours at the store he worked at and would be making enough for a cheap motel room and food and would be leaving the shelter.

 

Still, he smiled for the boy as he reached out to grab the hem of his father’s shirt. He was grateful the child wouldn’t be stuck at the place any longer and could return to a life of normalcy. Something Schneep—and the others, he suspected—would never truly be able to attain.

 

They weren’t human. Far from it, even if they could look the part. There would always be that thought nagging at the back of their minds; their auras itching to be released before the anxiety of holding them in for months on end started building up serving as reminders of the fact. Schneep could feel the unease creeping up his own spine for that very reason. Like little pinpricks that sent him on edge, that made it harder to hold up the cheerful mask he was trying to keep up. That made the shelter seem far too loud sometimes.

 

The doctor blinked when he realized he was being spoken to only when Jed reached back over and patted his hand to get his attention. The words didn’t want to register right away.

 

“…What was that?”

 

One of the volunteers Mr. Wilhelm had been speaking with tipped her head slightly. The motion caused ginger hair to fall over her face in funny ways. Molly, if he remembered. She worked more with the elderly, so Schneep didn’t see much of her in the day. “I…said Max never came in so you’ll have to head to work without him. You do know the way, right?”

 

“Oh. Is he ill?”

 

Molly started to shake her head, but then furrowed her brows and shrugged instead. “We’re not sure, actually. He’d usually call if that was it, but he’s a no-call no-show.”

 

“Hm.” That wasn’t like him.

 

“Mr. Dietrich? You _do_ know the way?” she repeated. “If not I’m sure I can find someone—”

 

The doctor waved her off. “Yes, yes. The way is simple. Is just strange Max didn’t show.”

 

He’d forgotten about the Wilhelms. Hadn’t expected the man’s voice from beside him, “This is a volunteer job for them. I’m sure something just came up.”

 

All he could offer was a nod. Of course.

 

Schneep shook off his unease. What did it matter Max was a no-show? Even if that was unusual… He was always early. One of those “early is on time, on time is late” sort of people. But then again, everyone had off days from time to time. Still. It just didn’t seem right.

 

Even so, the doctor offered a smile and held a hand out to the father. A simple gesture. A farewell. “It was good getting to know you.”

 

“Who knows,” there, the man grinned as he accepted that hand, “maybe next time I see you, you’ll be on the big screen.”

 

Both laughed at that. Schneep brought his other hand up, cupping the man’s between his own in a friendly gesture. Through the contact, he Saw that damn arthritis again, but pushed the image away. The man would be fine, and there was nothing Schneep could do anyway. So he just smiled and squeezed the man’s hand gently before letting go. “Oh, yes, a famous actor! Surely!” A shake of the head and another soft chuckle from both. “Ah… _Danke.”_ The man had been a friend when Schneep was convinced he’d lost his. A thank you didn’t seem enough, but was all he could offer.

 

Before the doctor could turn away, the man caught him by the shoulder. “Henrik? Good luck. You’re a good man—Karma should treat you well.”

 

Oh, he could hope. “Same to you, _mein Freund.”_

 

He should have been used to being left alone, but it was hard to walk out that door. As soon as he had, his smile fell away and shoulders sagged.

 

Usually Max would have noticed the shift in mood and started conversation from literally whatever angle he could find. Anything to get the doctor to perk back up. But he wasn’t there, either. A no-show. Why did that leave a knot in Schneep’s chest?

 

It wasn’t like Max. Maybe he’d been injured.

 

Or worse.

 

Schneep shook his head and shoved the thought away. Surely not that. It was too extreme. Max was a simple man with an…odd, like for turtlenecks. Come to think of it, Schneep had never seen him in anything less. Even when it was hot, the man was insistent on wearing them. Such an odd sense—or lack?—of fashion, to be sure.

 

He slid his hands into his pockets. Couldn’t help a grimace as his scalpel caught one of them, and sharp paperboard edges cut into the other. The doctor withdrew both hands and shook them; grumbled softly to himself. The scalpel couldn’t help being sharp. He really should have been more careful reaching into its pocket.

 

But paperboard? What would that have been from?

 

He pulled it out of the pocket and felt his stomach twist. A card. That’s what it was.

 

…Right.

 

A crumpled mess of what had been a shiny card with Marvin’s portrait on the face. Marvin had been ill recently. A flu, from what Schneep could Feel from the magician. He’d been worried until it receded and the older Ego had gotten proper rest. Schneep shouldn’t worry, though. Jackie would take care of him. Had taken care of him. Marvin was fine again.

 

They didn’t need Schneep. Get that through your thick skull, he scolded himself.

 

Fingers curling around the paperboard ball, Schneep felt a surge of anger as he brought an arm back to throw it in the street. That anger gave way for longing and loneliness. He couldn’t do it. He could use it to contact Marvin!

 

…Right?

 

He hadn’t really thought about it, but…had he ruined the card beyond use?

 

What did it matter. If they hadn’t found him yet, then they probably didn’t want to in the first place.

 

Schneeplestein shook his head and muttered under his breath as he pressed on. Best not be late. That job would soon by the only thing he had, so he couldn’t afford to lose it.

 

Hands once more buried deep in his pockets—this time careful of the objects—Schneep had a hard time catching his balance when a panicked teenager barreled into him. They both ended up going down with curses on the doctor’s part, and a startled yelp on the teen’s. She’d come from the alleyway just around the corner; hands shaking and eyes wide as she crawled her way up to her knees.

 

“Do you have a phone?” she begged. She kept glancing over her shoulder, back the way she’d come. “Please? He’s bleeding!”

 

Schneep’s hands found their way to her shoulders before he’d registered it. “Easy, easy,” he soothed. It was a natural response on the doctor’s part. She was like a panicking patient. He needed her to calm down before pressing for answers. “Who is bleeding?”

 

“I-I dunno. I dunno!” She took a shaky breath. There were tears in her eyes. “I think he was shot, but…I-I dunno who he is!”

 

“In the alley?”

 

She nodded. “I always walk that way! I-I didn’t know he was there ‘til I tripped—”

 

“Hey. Deep breaths. Calm down.” Schneep waited until she’d nodded and did as directed before guiding her to her feet. “Go into nearest business and call ambulance. I’ll do what I can until they’re here.”

 

The teen was running to the corner store across the street as soon as Schneep nodded for her to go; tripping over her own feet the entire way. He watched until she was safely inside before pushing past anyone in his way to get to that alleyway. He didn’t know if the guy was even still alive, but he had to at least check.

 

What met him surely wasn’t what he’d expected.

 

“… _Max?!”_

 

The man had been tucked up against a dumpster with only his feet sticking out in front of it. From outside the alley, he was barely visible; easy to overlook.

 

Schneep hit his knees hard enough to bruise at the man’s side. He was deathly pale with multiple blood spots soaking through his sweater and dripping from his lips. The doctor cupped the man’s face in his hands, tilted his head up. “Max?” He patted Max’s cheek softly, brushed hair away from his eyes. “Come on, _mein Freund…”_

 

Dark eyes cracked open. The man groaned and flinched away from Schneep’s touch. “Easy,” he murmured. “I need to get your sweater off, yes?”

 

The weak growl of “no” caught him off guard when he’d moved to get the material off the man. The doctor just shook his head and grabbed the hem of the turtleneck to pull it up and off.

 

A shaky hand grabbing his wrist stopped him that time.

 

“Don’t—touch—me…” the man growled between clenched teeth. “G-get away f—ngh—f-from me.” He let out a pained gasp as he backed as far against the wall as he could, breaths starting to become panting.

 

“No, no, don’t move! Is Henrik—I want to help!” Max swatted his hand away with more force than the doctor had expected with his current state. “Max. I won’t hurt you. Let me hel—”

 

“Fucking t-touch me and you—y-you’re dead.”

 

The Septic tutted. “You’re in hysterics. Just—”

 

He reeled back as Max took a swipe at his face. The man’s eyes, though pained, had a cold glint to them that sent a shiver down Schneep’s back. It didn’t seem at all like the Max he knew. Yes, the doctor understood that the man was _bleeding out_ from multiple fucking bullet wounds, but…something just didn’t sit right.

 

“Max. Please just let me—”

 

“C-catch a hint.”

 

Schneep heard a click. He should have been familiar with the sound; should have been able to know what it was the moment he heard it. Maybe it was concern for the man before him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t heard the sound in so long.

 

Really, he could have kicked himself for not recognizing the sound as that of a safety clicking off.

 

By the time he did realize what it was, he was already staring down the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will/should be a three-part chapter. Apologies in advance f̡͘o͡r͏̢͞ ͟wḩ̴at͢͡'̨͡s͜͢ ̷̛to̷ ͠c͝ơ̶m̧ę̴͜.͘


	45. You're Safe Here Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Character Injury, Blood/Gore, Medical Procedures, Language  
> /ALSO: This chapter is a nice look at why the fic is rated T. The medical stuff wasn’t delved into too much, but was enough to make me uneasy and I apologize in advance if something is inaccurate because I just can’t research that kind of stuff for very long. I’m fine researching lots of things—I mean, I did it on cannibalism and addiction for HOURS for Bim’s sake!—but medical procedural stuff is just a big no-go for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/) | [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
>  Schneep’s third and final ability introduced in this chapter.

**February 3** **rd** **, 2031, 11:55 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Schneep’s breath caught in his throat. He was so stupid! How hadn’t he recognized that damned sound as a gun’s safety clicking? He’d heard the sound a thousand times! And in shaking hands, the doctor knew that gun could fire at any moment. Max’s finger was too tense over the trigger, both hands holding the shaking weapon level with Schneep’s face.

 

All it would take was that finger to twitch just a little…

 

Don’t think that way, he scolded himself.

 

“Okay! Okay…” Schneep brought his hands up placatingly, not daring to look away from the weapon.

 

It had been raised on his blind side. Even if he _had_ recognized the sound, he wouldn’t have reacted fast enough. He mentally cursed himself. That eye (well, lack of) never caused much more trouble than making it easier for someone to startle the doctor, but now… It was because of it that he hadn’t noticed Max reaching for something tucked into his waistband.

 

Blood was dribbling from the man’s chin; further soaking into his sweater from his multiple gunshot wounds. It was dark blue and made the growing spots look black against the soft material. It would be obvious to anyone that Max would be dead if he didn’t get help, and soon. It was really a wonder how he wasn’t already.

 

“Let me help you,” Schneep begged. He found it hard not to convert to German; tongue fumbling over the words in his alarm for both himself and the man and making his accent heavy.

 

Max bared his teeth—stained red with his own blood—not in aggression, but pain as he tried shifting closer to the dumpster. “H-help?” he growled back and shook his head. The gun dipped low for a moment as if he’d nodded off before he raised it back up. “How could—could you _possibly,”_ he spit on the word, splattering blood on Schneep’s shirt and neck, “help?”

 

Movements slow, the doctor moved a hand to wipe the blood away from his neck. All he succeeded in was smearing it. “Let me see your injuries, yes? I just—”

 

Lurching forward wrenched a sharp gasp from the man, but also brought the gun flush against Schneep’s forehead. “You—won’t—touch me.” All the doctor could offer was a tiny nod as he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

 

What had Jackie taught him again? …Jackie. Best not to think of him.

 

The doctor shook his head to clear the thought of the superhero, and instead focused his gaze on Max’s hands. His knuckles were white from how tightly he held onto the gun, the shaking to the point the muzzle of the weapon was digging into Schneep’s skin almost painfully as it was pushed forward. He just had to wait for—ah. There it was. Just think of it as Chase, he told himself. Just like wrestling a gun from Chase whenever he’d wake up in Schneep’s lap delirious from however he’d managed to hurt himself that time.

 

The gun had dipped again as Max’s head lolled forward, so Schneep lunged forward much the same as the man before him had moments ago. One hand reaching for the man’s face, the other shoving the gun away from his own head. Even as the weapon went off and people in the street beyond the alleyway screamed with alarm, Schneep pressed his hand against Max’s forehead; planted his palm firmly until the man went limp.

 

“Hypnosis,” Marvin called it, even if it really didn’t resemble hypnosis. Still, the ability made the target fall unconscious and Schneep was known to use it in place of anesthetics.

 

The doctor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in and tipped back onto his heels. His ears were ringing from just how close to his head that gunshot had been, and there was a burning to the left side of his face.

 

He brought a hand up to his cheek, but grimaced and hissed between his teeth as that burn turned into a sharp sting where his fingers met torn flesh and tiny shards of bone. The bullet had caught his cheekbone; chipped part of it into pieces and ripped through the skin like it was nothing, and Schneep felt his stomach twist when he realized just how close to his eye it had been. Just a little higher and…

 

A shake of the head and the doctor pressed a sleeve to the wound in the same movement that brought him to lean over Max. Schneep pressed his free hand over the man’s abdomen, moved it slowly over the spots seeping through his sweater. With the man unconscious, he didn’t have to worry about using his Sight, and what he got from it didn’t look good. Though none of the shots had caught major organs, there was a lot of internal bleeding. An ambulance should be on the way, but would it arrive in time? And cops, too. Wouldn’t they arrive with shots fired? That’s what they did, right? Schneep didn’t have the supplies to help Max, even if he knew exactly what he needed to—

 

The man’s cellphone caught the doctor’s attention. He hadn’t noticed it before as it was partially tucked under Max’s thigh. It was blinking—an unread message. The screen itself turned on when another message came through:

 

_PV: where are you? boss’s gettin pissed. you never showed for work?_

 

Schneep’s brows furrowed. Was “PV” a shelter worker? He started wracking his memory for anyone it could fit. The message was replaced with a new one before the doctor could think of anyone to fit the acronym, however.

 

_Dev: I’m coming to get you._

 

Schneep felt the air shift, leaving him momentarily breathless and the smell of cigarettes lingering in the alley. A soft, surprised “Oh,” from behind him had the doctor jumping and turning to the voice too quickly. He nearly lost his balance, vision swimming a short time, before he was able to take in the figure before him.

 

The figure, a tall man with wide shoulders, stepped forward and then knelt near Max’s feet. His suit was fancy: Black and dark crimson. Too fancy for him to be kneeling in a dirty alleyway. Long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and beard trimmed short and neat. It was a stark contrast to Schneep’s jeans and hoodie; his scruffy beard and hair that had been given a quick comb-through early that morning.

 

The man didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he was leaning in to check Max’s pulse before glancing up and taking in the doctor’s bloodied sleeve pressed against his face. “Sorry about that. Ah…Mad tends to be… _dramatic_ when injured—a wounded animal, if you will. You must be Henrik?”

 

“How..?”

 

The man waved his hand to interrupt and gestured toward Max. “He reports any Egos he finds in that shelter. You’ve been the only one he’s seen for a long time.”

 

Schneep tensed at that, and the man raised his brows in response. “H-how did he know that?”

 

“Easy, now. He says you pass very well as human, but Mad can See auras.”

 

In other words, regardless of how well he passed Max would have known. So he was an Ego? Wait… “…Mad? You mean Max, yes?”

 

The man didn’t respond. Instead, he perked up to the sound of distant sirens before leaning in as if to pick Max up. When Schneep shoved him away, it was the man’s turn to be startled. “ _Nein!_ Don’t pick him up!”

 

“Police will discover him. If it comes to that, he’ll be found out.” How he was able to keep his voice so calm was beyond the doctor. “He described your aura. You may be medically adept?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I-I was created as doctor—”

 

“Good,” the man interrupted. “Then would you care to come with me—now? I know another who can create the supplies you would need.”

 

“I…” His gaze flitted toward the dying…ah, Ego, in front of him. Max needed immediate attention. It seemed like far more than a few mere minutes had passed since Schneep found him bleeding out, and Max looked worse than when the doctor had first seen him sitting there: Sheet-white, breaths rasping, and the puddle beneath him had grown. Even if he’d been conscious, he wouldn’t have been moving much. “…Yes. I’ll tend to him.”

 

Pulling his sleeve away from his face, the doctor hissed as the fabric stuck before pulling away more harshly than he’d intended. He blinked down at the large dark spot on the sleeve before shaking his head and positioning his arms under Max. It felt wrong lifting him—he should really be on a gurney!—but without a different choice Schneep was just extremely careful not to jostle the other.

 

The man picked up Max’s abandoned cellphone and gun; eyes flicking up when the doctor spoke. “Am I…supposed to know you?”

 

“That depends.” He slid the phone into his pocket and checked that the handgun was back on safety. “What’s your name? _Real_ name. I’m not interested in aliases.”

 

The doctor shifted his arms slightly, holding Max close. “Ahh…Henrik von Schneeplestein.”

 

Momentary surprise lit up the man’s face. It seemed to twist into something the doctor couldn’t quite name before falling neutral in moments. “You were extremely popular… No. You wouldn’t know me personally.” He folded his hands behind his back, and Schneep suddenly found himself gasping for air as it was sucked out of his lungs. Felt the strange, almost weightlessness, that often seemed to accompany teleporting that left his vision black and equilibrium out of whack in the few moments it took to reach the man’s… _Ego’s_ , destination.

 

As soon as his feet hit solid ground again the doctor stumbled and fell into a table. Only the suited Ego’s hands righting him prevented him from dropping Max or falling down himself. And there was that smell of cigarettes once more, too; causing Schneep to start coughing as he pulled in a deep breath to fill his lungs.

 

When the doctor had finally caught his breath and took the chance to glance around, he noticed the room was like an exam room, but with a larger variety of tools and table in place of the chair. The suited Ego moved away from Schneep and spoke a few words to another, who nodded and pushed himself away from the wall so he could help the doctor position Max onto the table. The suited Ego had left the room altogether in the time it took to get Max positioned properly.

 

While Schneep immediately moved for a pair of scissors to cut Max’s sweater off of him (taken aback by the sheer amount of burn scar tissue he found beneath. No wonder he wore turtlenecks), the new one—likely also an Ego—leaned in to start bandaging the wound in Schneep’s face. “Not much,” he said as he wiped away excess blood and made sure the bandaging was secure before passing a mask the doctor’s way, “but I’ll help you clean it up properly when Mad’s stable.” He also helped pull Schneep sweater off and tossed a pair of gloves the doctor’s way.

 

“Mad. He keeps being called that?” The doctor didn’t look to the other as he scanned over the tools at his disposal while slipping the gloves on, then proceeded to curse. There really wasn’t much there.

 

A shrug from the other. “MadPat’s his name. We don’t typically use aliases here.” He held a hand out for Schneep. “What tools you need?”

 

The doctor hummed at the name. He’d heard it before; Mad was a dark Ego, he recalled. “I need—”

 

“No, no, don’t _tell_ me, dammit. You think I know what the hell you’re talkin’ about? _Show_ me.” He gave a pointed look at the hand he’d stuck out that had been promptly ignored the first time.

 

The doctor took note of the others features for the first time as he reached out to grasp that hand. There were…makeup? stripes running down his cheeks and giving him raccoon eyes. When he grasped the others forearm, he was startled by the feeling of what he could only describe as static racing up his arm. He twitched uncomfortably at a strange pull on his mind, and when he heard the other speak again it was more like an echo, “Show me everything you need.”

 

The feeling receded in what had to have been seconds, but left the doctor shaking his head to clear the odd fogginess. When he’d looked up again, everything he needed was there. On the counter, the smaller table next to him, all the tools he could possibly need to fix Max… _Mad_ up; IVs and even a mini-fridge with a clear door that had bags of blood in it in what had to be Mad’s blood type.

 

If the Ego next to him had looked pale before, he now looked about ready to faint where he stood. That had to have taken a great deal of magic! Also, that had to be a first for Schneep in experiencing permissible mind reading… Certainly better than those fuckwits who could just do it whenever they wanted without _needing_ the target’s permission, though. “Go sit. I’ll handle it from here.”

 

And that he did. For the first time in months the Septic was back in his element. Back to saving a patient. It felt natural. It was what he was created for, after all. Made it easy to forget everything that had happened in the last months; made it easy to forget he…really didn’t know where he was… When the realization hit him, his hand nearly slipped. He carefully pulled it, and its tool that could have very _easily_ sliced into something it shouldn’t have, away from Mad and glanced toward the other Ego. He really hadn’t moved much from that chair aside from slouching so he could mess with something on his cellphone.

 

He’d introduced himself to Schneep while the doctor was in the middle of getting Mad cut open, but Schneep had been so focused he wasn’t quite sure he’d caught the name right. Nightmare, was it? The doctor began work once more, though cleared his throat to catch the others attention. “Where…are we?”

 

The Ego shrugged one shoulder and put his phone in his lap. “One of Dev’s garages. Why? Didn’t tell you?” At the doctor’s shake of the head without looking up, the other rolled his eyes. “Did you breathe in the smoke?”

 

Schneep furrowed his brows as he reached for tweezers to pull a rib fragment out. “Smoke?”

 

“Smoke when he teleports? I dunno, makes you susceptible to persuasion?” His voice was laced with some of the most blatant sarcasm Schneep had heard in a long time. “Did you even question getting your ass hauled here? Or how ‘bout get pissed for Mad fucking _shooting at you?_ ”

 

“I—” He didn’t, did he? He glared down at the body on the table; had to steel himself to focus and finish up his work so he could finally, _finally_ close Mad up. The other didn’t press until Schneep was finally at the point; needle in hand and pulling through Mad’s skin. “Dev,” Schneep said when he’d started wiping away excess blood caked to Mad’s chest and abdomen. “Who is ‘Dev’? Is a nickname, yes?”

 

Nightmare…no, no, that really didn’t sound right! Schneep felt he may have seen a picture or video of him in passing, and… Oh! Natemare, that was it! He leaned back in his seat with a look Schneep could only describe as “are you kidding me?” across his face. “Cigar smoke, fancy suit, _Iplier_ _?_ You seriously don’t realize who that is?”

 

Iplier? How the hell was the guy an Iplier? “…No?”

 

A roll of the eyes was all Natemare could offer. “You’re dealin’ with the damn Devil himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Oops?  
>  “̴͝…͘̕͠͠…͠…͏̴̧d̛̕͘͞o̧͜n̸̕͠’͢͠t͢҉ ̧̛m̢͜a̵̡̧̛͟ķ̨͠e̵͢ ͏̷a̧̢͘͜ ̶̡͠d̡͟͞͡e̴͢҉a̸̴ļ͝ ͡w̢̛͘͠i̢͘͜t͢͡͞͠h̴̶̕͞ ̕͟t̷̨h͏̷̶e̴ ̡͡D̶̵̛͟e̸̷̕҉v̵̧̨͟͝i̶̴͟l̷̸͟…͝…̧̧͟”̨̢


	46. You're Safe Here Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Medical Procedures, Blood, Language

**February 3, 2031, 4:36 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

An Iplier; the Devil. Had Schneep heard that before? It seemed familiar yet not; like he’d only heard it briefly in passing.

 

Setting his tools aside to be washed, he checked Mad over one more time as that processed. Hands running carefully over the unconscious Ego’s chest and abdomen so he could See what lay beneath the surface of his skin. “The Devil,” he murmured, “is…that supposed to mean something?” Careful hands making sure he hadn’t missed a stitch or bullet or shard of bone. “I…don’t think I recognize it?”

 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Natemare ran his hands over his face with a groan. It was a wonder how that makeup didn’t smear with the action. “Cuphead musical? Fischbach voiced the Devil in it?”

 

Eyes widening in surprise when that clicked, the doctor nodded a little. The musical. He’d forgotten about it despite the fact his creator had voiced someone in it. That would explain why the guy seemed…upset, was that the right word? when he found out the doctor’s identity. The musical had hype for a short time, then it pretty much stopped just as quickly as it had started, it had seemed. “I…didn’t realize he was an Ego?”

 

“No one does ‘til they meet the guy.” When Natemare had gotten up, the doctor had no idea. But now he was rummaging through drawers and pulling out items: Fresh needle, thread, tweezers, gauze, and the like. Seeing the items reminded Schneep of the stinging in his cheek. He brought a now-bare hand up to the messy bandage-job. “Sit down, sit still, don’t be a backseat driver, yadda yadda.”

 

With a roll of the eyes, the Septic checked over MadPat once more, frowning at the operation table he was laying on. He’d have to see about finding a bed he could move Mad to. Would have been nice if that was a real operation room, with the space to easily maneuver the patient to get him off the table. Shaking his head, he moved to take the chair Natemare had been using for the last few hours. Schneep dragged it away from the wall, turned it around, and proceeded to cross his arms over the backrest with chin rested atop them; head tipped slightly to the side to expose the damage.

 

“You at least know what you’re doing?”

 

“Eh, sort of?” The Ego snorted and rolled his eyes when that made the doctor jerk away from him. Schneep’s harsh glare was returned with another eye roll. “Easy, Septiceye. Unless you wanna go to a hospital, I’ve got this.”

 

“Mph… Very reassuring.”

 

Natemare pulled the doctor’s glasses off, setting them on a counter somewhere out of Schneep’s view so they wouldn’t get in the way. He then proceeded to peel off his patch-job of a bandage. Schneep could just feel how easily it came off from both the blood getting on the adhesive, and from how poorly it had been attached in the first place. With his facial hair, it really shouldn’t have come off as easily as it did. It was a wonder how it hadn’t fallen off while he’d worked on Mad.

 

Schneep flinched away from the initial touch to the wound—tweezers digging through the torn skin really didn’t feel all that great. Natemare made an annoyed sound and waited for the doctor to settle again before going back at it; placing little chips of bone in the dish resting rather precariously on his knee. It seemed the Sharp Ego had done similar before since he was working faster than Schneep had expected, but he was by no means a professional.

 

“Agh— _vorsichtig!”_

 

Speaking of not a professional… Schneep had to suppress a yelp when the tool slipped and felt as if it had stabbed him.

 

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but sure.”

 

All the doctor could offer was a glare at the blurry figure in front of him. “I said ‘careful.’ That fucking hurt.”

 

The Sharp snorted and proceeded to wave the tweezers around in a vague, somewhat wild gesture that had the doctor flinching away to avoid being smacked. “Ever heard the saying doctors are the worst patients? You’re _really_ convincing me of that right now.”

 

“Is no help you don’t know what you’re doing,” Schneep muttered under his breath. It was loud enough for the other to hear—heck, he _wanted_ Natemare to hear him!—but still uttered between clenched teeth.

 

A little shrug and Natemare leaned back in to pick out the rest of the debris. “Look. I’m no expert surgeon, or—what’d you used to call it? 100% Real Doctor?—but I can handle a little boo-boo like this.” He tossed the tweezers toward the sink as the doctor huffed. The tool bounced off the edge of the counter and proceeded to clatter to the floor instead. The Sharp proceeded to ignore them as he grabbed for the needle and thread he’d set nearby.

 

Schneep couldn’t make out the tools very well without his glasses, so the prick of the needle came sooner than he’d expected. In an unprofessional hand, the stitching involved more pulling at the torn skin and growled curses from the Septic than there really should have been, but it was over soon enough with Natemare bandaging it up (hopefully) properly.

 

Pressing a palm gingerly to the bandage to make sure it was secured, Schneep just shook his head and glared at Natemare. It was a good thing he’d shown up. The guy probably would have ended up killing MadPat in an attempt to save him judging by how many damn times his hands had slipped while helping Schneep out.

 

The doctor moved toward the counter, tripping over the leg of the chair in the process and grumbling under his breath, and groped for his glasses. He heard them get set somewhere—ah! There they were. He slipped them on and blinked a few times to let his eye adjust before crossing back to the table Mad still lay sleeping soundly on. He glanced up; met eyes with Natemare and couldn’t help but furrow his brows and cock his head. “Do you know what happened?”

 

“No? I wasn’t there?” Mare scanned MadPat’s chest before crossing his arms and shrugging. “Honestly though? He probably ticked off some sorta gang member, dealer, I dunno, something like that, and got peppered. Wouldn’t surprise me with him.”

 

Schneep’s eyes widened. “Humans would do that?” Surely they wouldn’t, right? It sounded like something straight out of the Figmental Plane.

 

“You must be real damn new out here. Watch the news for once and you’ll see that yeah, they would.” Weight shifted to one foot as he added, “Sometimes they’re bigger fuckin’ monsters than our kind. Stay out here long enough, this sorta shit won’t surprise you. Anyway…” He dragged one shoulder up in a shrug; tossed his head toward the door. “Dev’ll want to talk to you.”

 

With that, he slipped out of the room without giving Schneep a chance to put a word in edgewise. Grumbling, the doctor moved to follow.

 

He would readily admit that the noise when he left the exam room startled him. Machines— _loud_ at that—had him positive the room had been magically sound-proofed. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard all that noise otherwise. It was a garage, to be certain. Not nearly as large as Schneep had imagined the place beyond the room being, but a garage nonetheless. Two vans with tinted windows, a motorcycle currently missing both wheels and propped up on a makeshift mount as two…Egos? Women? worked on it were on the floor. The doctor found himself on a raised platform just above the vans’ level, and on the opposite side of the building were panels lined up to separate small sleeping quarters that had only cots.

 

One of the women working on the motorcycle waved to get the doctor’s attention, then pointed toward a door near the end of the platform. She didn’t speak; just turned back to her partner as she was handed a wrench. There were other people working on the vans, or projects propped on tables along the walls. Schneep had to wonder if they were Figments or humans as he turned away to approach the door that had been pointed out to him.

 

He knocked once, and couldn’t say he was surprised when it opened on its own. As far as he knew, the Devil had magic and such a task would have been easy.

 

The room within wasn’t the sort of office Schneep would have expected from the Ego’s getup. It was sparsely furnished with a worktable rather than a desk, small filing cabinet, and a few rotating stools—two of which taken by Devilplier and Natemare. Upon the doctor’s entry, however, the Devil stood.

 

“Mad?”

 

“Stable,” Schneep answered. “He’ll survive.”

 

“And your—?” He proceeded to tap his left cheek. “I understand Mare is not the most… _experienced_ in the matter, but he’s the best we have, unfortunately.” The Ego in question proceeded to scoff and mutter something under his breath.

 

The Septic found it in himself to laugh, however briefly, at that. “He could certainly use practice, yes.”

 

The Devil folded his hands behind his back, and Schneep couldn’t shake the mental image of Dark from his head with that action. But Devilplier had more color to him; a smile that welcomed Schneep to speak and bright eyes that creased at the corners. “I was curious, Doctor… Do you have anywhere to go?”

 

“I…” The question caught him off guard. Surely the Iplier knew the answer to that. Schneep had been staying at a homeless shelter for two months now. “I can return to the shelter, yes.”

 

Smile falling away, concern came over the Devil’s face. “Now, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have your creator or the other Septiceyes to go to? A man with your heart and talent shouldn’t be left to rot in some shelter.”

 

Schneep couldn’t find it in himself to look the Ego in the eyes any longer. He had no one to contact. No one to go to even if he wanted because he didn’t even know where they were. And really, how was he to know they even wanted him back? It didn’t seem they’d made much effort to find him anyway. _“…Nein._ I-I have no ways to contact them.”

 

One hand moved to the Devil’s chest as he approached the Septic. “I can give you a place to stay until you find them again. We would be honored to have you here, Doctor, and your talents would be put to good use.”

 

A minuscule nod as he took that information in was all Schneep offered. He would have a place to stay, to do the work he’d been created for. No more of that damn grocery store, no more of the shelter and prying questions about why he was there. He’d been accused more than once of not being a citizen while he was there. What did that even _mean?_

 

“I…wouldn’t want to intrude.”

 

“Nonsense!” The Iplier smiled, and from the corner of his eye, Schneep saw Mare do the same for a brief moment. “The only payment I’ll expect is that you make sure my men are healthy—we’ve needed a good doctor like yourself. In exchange, you get food and a bed for as long as you need.” That smile was welcoming; those eyes soft.

 

Schneep found himself nodding slowly. It wouldn’t hurt to stay there.

 

When he voiced his acceptance, the Devil beamed.

 

“You needn’t worry about a thing any longer, Doctor. I promise you that you’re safe here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guuuuys I’ve been looking forward to Schneep and Mare interacting for soooo long! It made this chapter such a friggin’ blast! XD


	47. Errands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Blood Mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/) | [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
>  Sorry for the delay on this one. I’ve been going through some stuff, so it’s been hard to write while I figure it out. Didn’t want to put out a shitty chapter for it, so it was turned out later than I would have liked. ^^”

**February 5, 2031, 6:23 AM**

**Breckenridge, Colorado**

 

“I don’t know, Wilford,” the doctor grumbled as he fought with the zipper of his coat. The fabric had caught, and now the damn zipper wouldn’t cooperate! “Mr. Flynn gave you an office, didn’t he? Just—I don’t know? Hang Incorporated up near the door? You can’t go out in just a vest!”

 

The Host uttered something under his breath, and Doc’s zipper finally came loose so he could zip it up to his throat. He offered the narrator a grateful look before turning attention back to their resident serial killer. His brows were raised expectantly. They had discovered a while ago now that Incorporated had retained its abilities to shift its form. While it could no longer cause brand new floors to appear out of nowhere and make Indiana Jones-esque traps for intruders, it could change what style of overwear it was, as well as invert the charm and fabric colors. Lately Wilford had taken to wearing Inc as a vest while stealing Doc’s coat to wear to work.

 

Now with Dr. Iplier finally being accepted to start his training, Wilford couldn’t take his coat. Doc would need it to trudge his way to the ski resort every morning. He wouldn’t actually be starting until next week, but they were running short on supplies. While Dark stayed back at the hotel to look for a job for himself, Doc and the Host would be heading downtown after walking with Wilford to the toy store.

 

The doctor, Dark, and Wilford all grimaced and squeezed their eyes shut as Will’s vest—as Incorporated—gave off a bright light. When the light faded, Inc was turned back into a parka with all its eye-burning, neon glory. It tinked its charms together, and its wearer let out a laugh.

 

Doc just shook his head and pulled his beanie on low over his ears, then followed it with his gloves. His gaze flitted over to the Host as he bent to tuck his pants into his boots, then over to Dark who was seated at the desk to go through papers. “Do you need anything?”

 

At the demonic Ego’s dismissive wave, the doctor just offered a roll of the eyes before crossing to the Host. He adjusted the other Iplier’s hood to make sure it was properly covering his bandaged face, and cut for the door. He didn’t wait to see if Wilford and the Host were following. Host simply would be. And Wilford, well. If he was late for work, it was his own damn fault.

 

It was also _completely_ Wilford’s fault when he and Doc nearly took a tumble down the stairs. The eldest of the three still went headlong in his attempt to take them three at a time, but the blind Ego’s quick hands had tugged the doctor to the safety that was the railing now digging into his rib cage. He winced, grateful for the thick padding of his coat—surely he would have wound up with bruises without it!—and then proceeded to sigh as he jogged down the steps to Wilford’s prone form.

 

Considering the other was laughing, Doc wasn’t too worried as he nudged Wilford onto his back with his foot. All he offered was a soft muttering of how much of an idiot Wilford was—earning a light chuckle from the Host—as he stepped over the older Ego. “If you’re late, it’s not on me.”

 

There was another flight before they could reach the first floor, and fortunately there were no other accidents; Wilford was already going to be cutting it close when he reached the toy store. A broken nose earned from his own stupidity would not be favorable.

 

Only when they actually left the hotel did Doc and Host start speaking in hushed tones with one another, elbows brushing as means to help the blind Ego since he wasn’t narrating his way about. There was the occasional eye-roll as Wilford would about slip on the snow-covered ice; the occasional curse as he himself nearly slipped and only the Host grabbing hold of his arm steadying him.

 

Doc couldn’t help but notice the trembling of his friend’s reddening hands whenever they would pull from their pockets; how he kept tilting his head to rub his cheeks against his shoulders as if they itched. The Host’s cheeks were red, too, and not from the blood constantly running from empty eye sockets. The skin on them was cracked, being rubbed raw. The dry, cold air really hadn’t been doing the older Ego any favors.

 

A shake of the head. He couldn’t worry about tending to the Host’s face until they returned to the hotel room. If they’d been up earlier, he certainly could have before they left, but as they hadn’t it would have to wait.

 

Green eyes flicking up, Dr. Iplier took in the sight of Mr. Flynn’s toy shop just down the street from them. The sign was a bland black and white. Boring, compared to the neon light-up one of the bar on its left, and the artsy, colorful one of the boutique to its right. If not for the assortment of dolls and stuffed animals visible from the front window, it might look like a legal agency. And according to Wilford, that’s actually what it had been before the current owner had bought it.

 

As they neared the store, a man rushed out the door. He had a folder tucked under one arm, and was cursing into the blinking Bluetooth in his ear as he stumbled around in his attempt to pull the sleeve of his coat on all the way. He ended up shouldering Wilford out of the way, and nearly butted heads with Dr. Iplier before actually looking up.

 

The man blinked, glanced between the trio with his gaze lingering on Wilford, then turned off the Bluetooth.

 

“Cuttin’ it real close, Williamson,” he growled as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his coat. “I ain’t got tolerance for tardiness.” The man was tall, nearly Doc’s own height, but lanky to the point he must have been underweight and bony under all those layers. His clothes were stained in various paints, stains, and varnishes, and hair a ruffled mess as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He matched Wilford’s description of Mr. Flynn pretty damn well, right down to the almost humorously cartoony accent.

 

“The concepts…” he cursed as the last button slipped from rapidly chilling fingers before finally getting it to cooperate, “you got ‘em put together yet? Customer’s gettin’ real impatient.”

 

Wilford only snorted. He looked…annoyed? Doc and Host could only glance to each other as the eldest of the trio grumbled out, “Almost. Haven’t had enough time to fini—”

 

Tutting, Mr. Flynn adjusted the folder he was carrying as he loudly interrupted, “Now, I don’t be seein’ what the big deal is. You’ve had plenty’a time to finish.” He leaned down to come eye-level with the Ego, pale blues cold. “I’ve got supplies to pick up. Do your job, Williamson, or find somewhere else willin’ to deal with ya.”

 

He turned the Bluetooth back on and mumbled something to himself as he pushed right in between Doc and the Host to continue in the direction he’d previously been heading: Making a beeline for the post office.

 

All Dr. Iplier could find himself doing was shaking his head in disbelief. “Very pleasant man.”

 

Another snort from Wilford. It was followed by a shrug and harsh kick to a little pebble lodged into the snow. “Real charm t’work for.”

 

“The Host is surprised Wilford has not yet attempted to ‘tickle’ Mr. Flynn.” His voice was low so only his companions could pick up his words; a small grin playing at the corners of his lips.

 

“Don’t be giving me ideas, Hosty,” Will chuckled. “I’m the only one workin’ so we need what I’m makin’.”

 

Doc placed a hand on the Host’s shoulder. “And you’ll keep this job at least until my training’s done and I can start actual work. And Host here,” a light squeeze to the shoulder to emphasize, “won’t be giving you any more ideas that could lose you this job.”

 

Wilford was laughing then. Doc wasn’t sure if it was a way to say he would challenge that notion, or if he just thought it was funny. The doctor desperately hoped it was the latter, and offered his own soft chuckle.

 

Going quiet about as soon as Wilford entered the store, Doc moved to lead his remaining companion to a convenience store. With the distraction that was Wilford Warfstache now gone, he felt unease settle into his stomach as his mind wandered. He hadn’t heard any word about Henrik, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for giving one of his most private pieces of medical information out. It had gone from just him and Seán knowing to _everyone_. If that wasn’t a breach of privacy, he didn’t know what was.

 

Even with his back to the Host, he could feel the sightless stare at the back of his head. “The dear doctor will be forgiven.” The snow crunched as the older Iplier picked up his pace to walk at Doc’s side again. “Dr. Schneeplestein will understand.”

 

Gloved hands buried themselves in his pockets as Doc turned his head slightly to the side. He felt the Host place a hand on his shoulder and shook his head with a soft laugh. “My friend, are you sure you can’t read minds?”

 

The smile on the other Iplier’s face was contagious as trembling fingers squeezed gently before retreating back to their own pockets. “The doctor must forget how well the Host knows him.” Even behind that hood, beneath those bandages, Doc knew Host’s brows had raised and what muscle remained around his eye sockets had pulled up in what would have contributed to his smile had he the eyes for it.

 

When the duo pushed through the door to the convenience store, Dr. Iplier could practically feel his partner’s shift as Host dipped his head to better hide his bandaged face, and chose his words carefully. Humans didn’t typically speak in the third person, after all.

 

“Your job. Are you—”

 

“Not looking forward to training.” Doc felt immediate guilt at cutting the other off. With how much the Host would have to focus so as not to slip into the wrong wording, it would take him a moment to recollect his thoughts with them having been interrupted. “I’ve, ahh…never even used skis before.”

 

The Host didn’t seem too off-put by the interruption as a smile pulled his lips. “It’s training for a reason.” He mumbled something as he opened one of the cooler doors, using the near-silent narration to find a small carton of milk—a risky thing in a public place, but no one had seemed to notice while his head was practically in the loud cooler. The item was passed on to the doctor, who tucked it into the crook of his arm after pulling his gloves off and pocketing them. “Besides, didn’t you used to ice-skate with Henrik?”

 

Doc barked a laugh at that. At the jokes the fans had made rather well known at the time—of the German Olympics figure-skater actually being Henrik or his creator—an indoor rink had popped up in Jackie’s city near to Marvin’s theater. Henrik had gone there often afterward, and honestly, he’d gotten really good at skating! Doc…not so much. “I _doubt_ the two are remotely similar. And I only went a few times—that can’t be good experience!”

 

“Better than no experience,” the other pointed out. As he moved on to the next thing, his fingers lightly grazed the edge of a shelf; touch light enough not to disturb any tags that may be beneath it, but firm enough he could find his way to the next place without his narrations to guide him. “Doing your research?”

 

“Yes, yes.” He reached out for disposable silverware and bowls, attempting to balance them with the milk as he reached again for plates. “What I’m worried about is getting _you_ a job.”

 

The Host dragged a shoulder up into a shrug. “Da…mien,” a quick catch, “is looking into possibilities.”

 

Doc hummed. It would probably be best if Dark and the Host could find a place to work together. Finding a place that would accept them both would be the hard part.

 

“Well, we’ve still got some errands to run.” The doctor juggled with his items as he grabbed for some food as well. He ended up catching the wrapper holding the plates between his teeth and mumbled around it, “We’ll do some more asking around.” Maybe there were positions somewhere that hadn’t been open the last twenty times they’d checked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’ve got a request for my readers! I’d love to hear what objects/symbols you guys may incorporate with the fic because I’d like to make cover art for it, but the cast is just too big to use it! If you don’t want to say here, you can go to either my main Tumblr ([blitzindite](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/)) or the series’ ask blog on it ([asktheoutside](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/)) and shoot me an ask with your suggestions. <3


	48. Needle in a Haystack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, I’m back! Over my writer’s block now, so back to the story. I honestly hate this chapter, but it’s better than nothing. ^^”  
> ALSO! The series’ first birthday is coming up Dec 3rd! I’ll try to do something for it. <3 Oof, that’s hard to believe!

**February 10, 2031, 10:42 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Laughter filled the living room from those gathered around the television. The Twins had just finished their segments before an interview started, and Bing had flipped the channel to a comedy none of them knew the name of.

 

They’d settled into the duplex comfortably by that point. Bing knew exactly where everything was if something was needed, the kids had their rooms set up just how they wanted, the Twins had a few suits for work, Bing had a license and Chase had a permit (still wasn’t the best at driving yet, though). The Septic had been using the Fischbach’s van to practice, while the android didn’t need it. He had all the information he needed on driving available with just a mere thought. He’d even been researching used cars in the area earlier so they could get their own. They didn’t want to rely on the Fiscbachs or public transportation forever, after all.

 

They were getting used to their neighborhood, were on good terms with their neighbors to the left and wondering who would move into the empty duplex to their right. The three places shared a wall, and it was sometimes easy to forget until the kids or Twins tripped down the stairs and the neighbor was at the door wondering if everything was all right. It was…amusing, in a way. Endearing. For being an apparently “sketchy” neighborhood, there really hadn’t been many problems.

 

It was easy to relax, really.

 

Chase groaned when the android nudged him, lolling his head lazily to look Bing in the eye.

 

“You’re bendin’ my charger.” Bing twitched the fingers of the hand resting between them. His charger stretched from the wrist at an odd angle with the cord caught under the Septic’s leg and successfully trapping his hand there.

 

Chase blinked down at the offending charger and glared playfully when Sophie giggled at him. He shifted, chuckling a bit himself when Bing disconnected the cord and shook his hand out. “Sorry, man.”

 

Stretching, the Septic sat up from his slouching position. “We still wanted to go to the skate park today, didn’t we? Or is it gonna be a lazy day?”

 

“We get enough of those!” Sophie protested from her place on the love seat. She winced when she tried to lurch out of the seat, causing Yan’s fingers to tangle in her hair mid-braid and jerk her head back. Chase couldn’t help his own grimace when he Felt the jolt of surprise from her. The Iplier mumbled an apology as he pulled his fingers free of the tangles, then reached for the brush at his side to start over.

 

Chuckling, Chase sank back into the couch, a grin stretching over his face when Sophie glowered at him. “But relaxing sounds like a good idea!” He tucked his hands behind his head, elbowing Bing as he did so. “Don’t’cha think?”

 

“Bing! Don’t agree with him! Tell him we’re going skating!” It was hard to forget she still had the mind of an eight-year-old when she looked to be in her preteens now.

 

The android brought his hands up placatingly. “I can’t control your old man!”

 

It was with that that both Brody kids busted out laughing—Kyler nearly toppling off his perch on the armrest of the love seat as he rocked forward; Yan tried (and failed) to stifle his own snickering. The Septic in question could only snap his head toward the android and gape.

 

“You called him old!” Sophie giggled.

 

“He _does_ look older than the rest of you now,” Kyler added “helpfully” with a cocky grin at his dad.

 

While it was true—the Twins looked early twenties, and Bing somewhere around mid-to-late twenties—the Septic still crossed his arms and feigned a pout. He easily looked late thirties/early forties, and the kids had made sure to tease him about it. A lot. Chase took it in stride of course, but acting like a little drama queen for laughs every once in a while didn’t hurt anything, either.

 

“All right, all right,” the Septic said when he could no longer hold the pout without a smile trying to sneak a curl to his lips, “go get ready. Yan do you—”

 

“No. I’ll just stay here!”

 

“Gotcha.” Chase stretched again as he stood. He shot a look toward Sophie first, “Safety gear—no buts,” before shifting over to Kyler, “and no binder.”

 

The boy’s shoulders sagged at that. “But—”

 

“Kyler.” The Septic’s expression became stern, then. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. You can’t wear it skating.”

 

When the kids went bolting up the stairs—Sophie tugging her grumbling brother up the whole way—Chase turned to the android. He picked up the hoodie draped over the armrest of the couch and tossed it to the Iplier.

 

Bing glanced back up right as it landed on his head and neither of them could help but start laughing. “We should probably get ready, too,” Chase suggested. To Yan, he said, “Twins should be home in a few hours, but if you’ve got problems, just call Bing.” The Iplier only hummed in acknowledgment as he found distraction in his cellphone.

 

By the time the four were walking out the door, Kyler was perked up and laughing again as he and his sister had a shoving match to see who could get to the end of the walk first. Chase had the skateboard the kids had gotten him for Christmas tucked under his arm, while Bing had the roller-blades they’d gotten him on as he expertly avoided the cracks in the sidewalk to follow them at a leisure pace.

 

Both Brody kids had their own skateboards—their Christmas gifts from their dad—and while Kyler’s was strapped securely to an empty backpack, Sophie kept dropping hers and earning grimaces from her brother.

 

“Left at the next corner,” Bing instructed. The kids were…adamant, about being in front despite the fact their walking GPS was the only one who actually knew where they were going. Chase just shook his head as the two fought over who could press the button for the crosswalk. At least they’d remembered to do that this time around though, he thought; last time they’d just run out into the street and Bing had had to grab both of them by the hoods before they could get hit by a delivery truck.

 

They’d been more careful since, to be sure; it only took them a few times of doing it to actually remember. Both were as thickheaded as their dad, honestly.

 

Chase couldn’t help a fond roll of the eyes at that thought. They were certainly his kids.

 

Jogging to catch up with the trio again, the Septic elbowed Bing in the side—not hard enough to bruise himself like he usually tended to, fortunately. Chase wasn’t surprised when the android kept perfect balance on his skates and only offered a chuckle at the Iplier’s cocky grin. “You’re gonna show off aren’t you?”

 

Smile revealing pearly whites, Bing dragged his shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. “Been a while since I’ve gone roller-blading. Gonna be rusty.”

 

Chase snorted and looped an arm around his friend’s neck, dragging Bing against his side. It made for an awkward, sliding shuffle from the android due to his skates. “Dude. Rusty for you’s gonna be advanced for anyone else.”

 

The two shared a laugh as the kids ahead of them continued their lighthearted bickering.

 

With the news of Schneep’s eye being passed around as of a means of, just maybe, being able to pick him out of a crowd, Chase found it easier to laugh and to smile and relax. They’d all been keeping a lookout, and while a glass eye was like a needle in a haystack in Los Angeles, it was so much more than they’d had to work with the past months. With so many watching, picking through that metaphorical hay, they’d uncover it eventually. They just had to hold out hope the needle would be found soon without sifting through the entire stack.

 

Chase’s smile softened a little as his laughter went quiet. “You uh…think we’ll find Henrik soon?”

 

“Duh!” Bing’s smile was bright as ever. “Ollie, Blue, and I’ve been runnin’ our scanners for eye matches, Marv’s searching with his magic—everyone’s watchin’!” He gave the Septic a hearty pat on the back, earning a grimace from Chase at the near-bruising force that quickly morphed back into a grin.

 

They would find him, surely so!


	49. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Sexual Innuendos, Talk of Death/Aging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/) | [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/) | [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
>  Uh. The King/Bim friendship wasn’t supposed to happen but it just sort of. Did? Bim can’t stand animals, so they really weren’t supposed to be friends. This fic has a mind of its own half the time, I swear.

**February 14, 2031,** **3:32 PM**

**Brighton, England**

 

Many of the shops lining Brighton’s streets were adorned with hearts and flowers, Valentine’s cards, and some places even proudly displaying their special collection of women’s lingerie for the holiday right where it could be seen from the street. It was…certainly something. Silver’s city would never have such risque items on such blatant display.

 

Bim couldn’t help a soft chuckle at the disgusted look that crossed the King’s face when the pair passed one such shop.

 

“Do humans have any dignity?” the older Ego hissed under his breath. It was so soft that even Bim, right at his elbow, had a hard time picking up on the King’s words. It brought another chuckle from the former game show host as he gave a small shake of the head.

 

“ _Silver’s_ city didn’t put on such a display, but _plenty_ of other cities back home were more similar to… _this,”_ Bim gave a wide gesture at the nearest store with such a display in its windows.

 

“But do they really have to have it on such display?”

 

“Apparently so!”

 

Bim laughed at the look to cross over his companion’s face. As a sex-repulsed aro/ace, of course the old Ego would have a pretty damn hard time seeing the appeal in something so risque. It wasn’t before now that the poor guy had to look something like that in the face, however, and while the younger Iplier shouldn’t have been laughing the King’s reaction was…amusing. Had it been Bing who was also aro/ace, the idiot (the term was endearing,of course) would have been making jokes that had _Bim_ uncomfortable, but the King? Not so much.

 

Looping an arm around his far shorter comrade’s neck, Bim led him farther down the street. They had errands to run since they had volunteered to do so for the Irishman. As much as Bim wanted to window shop, they both needed to stay on track or the man would be calling them to see what was taking so long. He’d been hesitant to let them go out on their own as it was; they really shouldn’t have been wasting time.

 

The suited Ego checked his breast pocket for the umpteenth time to ensure that both his card and the shopping list were right where he’d left them. It was habit, and Bim caught the King rolling his eyes and grinning from his peripherals. The former show host knew the items were there, he distinctly remembered tucking the list in front of the card. He couldn’t have forgotten the action if he tried thanks to his ability. Couldn’t forget a damn thing, for that matter.

 

In fact, why _did_ he have a list? Seán knew about Bim’s memory. Then again, the man had a lot on his mind; especially now that he was trying to help the four currently crashing at his place find some sort of apartment as close to his place as possible.

 

Adjusting his lapels, Bim glanced up at the signs as they passed each store. In the window of one he saw an advertisement for a sparkly black suit. He could just _feel_ the King’s humored gaze falling on him.

 

“You want it?” he asked.

 

While Bim was tempted to say yes, second thoughts made him _re_ think. Especially with how _cheap_ it was. “No. Poorly made, I’m sure—and that glitter would get everywhere!”

 

“Like Wilford’s?” the King laughed then. It had always been contagious; so similar to their creator’s and bringing Bim to start laughing as well. Bim had had Wilford cover him in the bright pink mess just because he _could_ more than the former host cared to count.

 

…Damn. It had been months since he’d last heard from Wilford. The two used to sit for hours slaving over edits on their shows, throwing jokes and insults at one another as they worked. When Bim was doing his show, Wilford and the Jims ran the cameras and other equipment, and vice versa. “You know, I didn’t realize how quiet it was without Will around. Kind of miss the old nut.”

 

King rolled his eyes with a bright grin. “Nut? That was on purpose!”

 

Feigning surprise, Bim rested a hand over his heart. “Why, I’d never!”

 

An elbow struck him in the ribs, and Bim grimaced even through his laughter. The King’s elbow was…far sharper than he’d expected. For a squirrely little…

 

…why did he want to think “man”? They were Egos. “Man” would refer to a human, just as it always had. There was Chase and Bing who used the word almost religiously of course, but it was just another part of their vocabulary; just as “dude” and “bro” were and always had been. But the rest of them? Not so much. They’d been Outside for too long. Bim was starting to pick up on the terms, and as far as he knew some of the others might have started to, as well. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe…it showed growth. An acceptance for their place among the humans, even if they weren’t human themselves.

 

Bim’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind his glasses as he fell back a step or two behind the King. That wasn’t a bad thing. Why would it be?

 

The older Ego glanced back at him curiously. Bim just offered a reassuring smile and with a few quick strides found himself back at the King’s side. “Thinking,” he said as he looped an arm around the King’s neck and steered him to a crosswalk. Without Horatio perched up on the King’s shoulder, it was much easier to do that, too. There wasn’t a squirrel Bim _swore_ had it out for him chittering and swiping at him to take it a step back.

 

“You know…I’ve been curious of something for a while now.” After the duo had been silent for so long, Bim grimaced sympathetically when his sudden words brought a visible jolt from the King. King didn’t actually say anything, but the arch of his eyebrows was enough to tell Bim to continue. He opted to lower his voice and lean in a little to better avoid the risk of humans overhearing. “Our, uh…lifespans. I’m…curious how long we can expect to live without needing to rely on the fans.”

 

A look of surprise crossed his comrade’s face. “I…hadn’t thought of that,” King admitted as his brows furrowed. His gaze flitted about a moment, beady eyes narrowing as an elderly couple’s gaze lingered on them for too long, before he offered a small shake of the head. “Back home we could live forever. As long as we had the attention for it.”

 

“Exactly.” Bim’s gaze drifted up as he took in the sight of the store they needed to pick some stuff up from farther down the street. If their appearances changed when they came Outside to make them seem more human rather than doppelgangers or clones to their creators, could anything else be affected? In theory, an Ego could live for hundreds, if not thousands, of years as long as they were fed the attention they needed to survive. Would they age now that they were in the humans’ plane? It wouldn’t be very human if wrinkles and grays and sore joints didn’t eventually set in, after all. At the same time, auras and powers weren’t exactly human, either.

 

Jackieboy and the King were already gray with the King even having wrinkles framing his eyes, and surely some of the others were in a similar state as well! Bim…wasn’t sure what to think of that.

 

“Now that we don’t rely on fans…what _is_ our lifespan?” Bim adjusted his suit jacket, and then glasses, with his free hand. The other remained around the King’s neck to keep their heads close enough to speak softly.

 

Behind his own glasses, smudged so badly it was a wonder he could see out of them, the King’s eyes narrowed again; this time in thought. “Could we be restrained to that of a human?”

 

“Should ask Doc,” suggested Bim, “ask him to study it for a few years?”

 

All the King offered was a shrug in response that the former game show host returned. How they hadn’t thought of it before was beyond Bim.

 

No. Scratch that. It made perfect sense that none of them had. They were all so relieved to even _have_ time left that they hadn’t cared to think about _how much_ there would be. As far as they knew they would live to be one hundred, max. Or their lifespan could double or triple, or anything beyond, that of a human.

 

Doc and Schneeplestein used to always go about cursing when they discovered something new about their kind because studying the discovery took time out of the jobs they were created for. Even their auras weren’t completely understood. Their very souls, arguably their most important aspects, and it still wasn’t entirely known how they worked; just that they _did._ Oh, Doc would be pissed. It would take him years to figure out how long they could expect to live, and with the other missing doctor already on his mind he was going to have his hands full.

 

Even if it would be a pain, Bim wanted to know. Surely the others would, too.

 

He’d be sure to remember to text Doc later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Instead of “game show host” I wrote “game show hoe” at one point and almost didn’t catch it. I’m so sorry Bim. XD


	50. In Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None (...why is it the Googles' chapters never have warnings? XD )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/) | [Series Ask Blog](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/) | [Series Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiUbwo1GLflrt_0zBMgr83aE34hlNK1Cz)  
>  Note: The cycle (Chase’s group, Jackie’s, Googles, Anti, etc before repeating) will be breaking soon. It’ll be pretty obvious when it does, and for go̷o̷d̴ r̴eas̴o͞n.  
> Also! Oliver’s hair looks [like this](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/post/179986570757/since-i-cant-write-it-ill-do-some-concepts-for) in the fic! (pic also shows the difference in Schneep’s eyes)

**February 25, 2031,** **4:30 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Oliver let out a pleased little trill as he held a pair of glasses up to the light. They had silver frames, almost oval in shape, though not quite rounded enough to be considered as such. The other pairs on the desk were two identical pairs with rectangular frames—one black, one silver—for Blue and Red, a black circular pair for Oliver, and wide black framed ones for Bing.

 

“Green,” he said, voice crackling as he shifted to English after hours of musing to himself in the androids’ language, “can I test these on you?”

 

As the youngest of the Upgrade trio saved the file he’d been working on before getting up, Oliver tucked his unruly hair behind his ears. Red had already threatened to cut it off if he couldn’t get it under control, but Oliver honestly liked it. It was a lot frizzier than he would have liked, which made it hard to keep controlled, but even Green had said it suited him. And as long as it didn’t distract him, Blue didn’t care how long it was, at least.

 

Green seated himself on the foot of one of the beds, directly across from Oliver in his desk chair, as the yellow Google leaned in to connect a cord to the back of the others neck; the other end in his own wrist. “I need to get into your optical systems,” he said.

 

A nod and affirmative chirp answered, and Oliver’s eyes shifted to white noise—blinding him to the room around him and replacing his sight with lines upon lines of code. He watched as that code shifted when Green lowered the firewalls to his CPU to allow access. Oliver brought one hand up to rest on the other’s neck to keep the cord from pulling, and then the two remained completely still. For the longest time the only change came from how the static in Oliver’s eyes shifted, or how Green’s kept flickering as their settings were adjusted.

 

Oliver let out a trill and accompanying chirp, which the other answered in kind with a very slight tilt of the head. Red and Blue would glance toward them on occasion when one of them spoke in the androids’ natural language, the various sounds coming from the back of their throats or high in their chests.

 

When Oliver finally pulled away, carefully disconnecting the cord from Green’s neck and then his own wrist, the other blinked a few times before tipping his head to one side per the yellow Upgrade’s request. He arched a brow, offering Oliver a side-glance when he made a small incision in the skin just above Green’s ear the moment his vision was fully returned.

 

Voice crackling as he shifted back to English, Oliver mumbled something to himself as he peeled the synthetic skin back before saying, “I’m setting up a trigger. This way our eyes will only appear human as long as we have the glasses on.”

 

“I thought you were crafting them specially and ‘it was difficult,’” Red asked. His mouth had twisted skeptically as he tapped the side of his laptop expectantly.

 

“Well, yeah. Uh…here.” Oliver reached for the pair he’d made for Red and passed them to oldest Upgrade before picking up the ones he’d set nearby for Green. “You see here,” he traced the curve at the temple, “if you put them on, this will press behind your ear kind of tightly. That’s where I’m putting the trigger. But if you do this,” he slid his fingers along the frames (thicker than their old pairs, but not quite as thick as the pair for Bing) until finding the not-quite-buttons along the top on both sides and sliding them toward the temples with his thumbs, “the temples loosen and our eyes will return to their regular settings.” He shrugged as if it were the most obvious answer. “It was just kind of hard because I didn’t really have the best tools to work with.” Oliver’s fingertips were far more sensitive than the other Googles’; to the point that the extremely thin but durable wires he’d used for allowing the temples to adjust would have very easily been out of the others’ sensory range.

 

The toe of Green’s shoe nudged Oliver’s shin, and he offered a pointed look. “If you could finish?” Through the little demonstration of the glasses, he’d sat quietly, head tilted and “skin” cut away just above his ear.

 

While Oliver was careful about setting the trigger point so he could eventually move to the other side to copy it above the other ear, he could still practically feel Red’s eyes boring into his back. “Will these settings have any effect on our vision?”

 

A hum answered, followed by a nod. “We’ll still see perfectly fine, but our color vision will probably be more limited like a human’s. I’ve got Green’s CPU coded a little differently now, so once I get the triggers placed they’ll turn off certain settings for his eyes.” He pressed the skin he’d peeled away back in place, then patted Green’s cheek so he would turn his head the opposite way. Oliver got to work copying the trigger to the other side without once glancing toward Red.

 

“Colors may seem less saturated, and far more limited. We should still see more colors than humans, just not nearly as many as we’re used to, and I don’t know how well we’ll see in the dark while the triggers are active.”

 

Oliver set his tool aside and resealed the skin, hiding the metal and new trigger beneath that was an exact copy as the one on the other side. “Look me in the eyes,” he ordered as he cupped his hands around Green’s face. He pressed his index fingers against the trigger points; watched as the other Upgrade flinched and his eyes flickered.

 

The white in the center of Green’s eyes fell dark first, black just like a pupil, their glow dying out soon after. A very soft whirring from them as the metal within adjusted, drew deeper into the eye so the silver could be pulled out of a human’s visibility. All of that was eventually followed by Green’s iris adjusting its color, falling a much darker shade of itself and honestly, it looked very much like a natural human color, if Oliver did say so himself. It all happened within seconds.

 

The yellow Google pulled his hands away so he could replace them with the glasses. The temples pressed right where they were supposed to, with Green’s now too-human eyes flicking about the room.

 

He…didn’t look impressed.

 

“It’s all extremely desaturated,” Green mumbled. He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes under the glasses as if it would help return his full field of vision.

 

All Oliver could offer was a shrug and raised eyebrow. “I…uh, _did_ say that would probably happen?”

 

The look Green gave him was almost funny knowing his eyes would have flared with irritation, but that they couldn’t at that moment. “Lose the sarcasm. I know you did, but I still don’t like it.”

 

Blue stood, then; his steps soft over the carpeted floor as he approached and grasped Green’s chin to tip his head up. Oliver scooted his chair back, head tilting and hair falling free from where it was tucked behind one ear, as their leader inspected Green’s eyes. He offered a small nod.

 

“Very good, Oliver.”

 

The Upgrade beamed at the praise, yellow eyes literally brightening. That smile only widened when he caught the tiny smirk curling the edge of Blue’s lip as he turned away to return to his laptop.

 

“I’ll send you to Bingiplier’s residence tomorrow so you may add his trigger-points. For now, work on Red’s, and run me through the process while doing mine.”

 

There was a pause as Oliver’s smile fell away slightly. “Wait—why?” His smile returned, reassuring now, “I can do it just fine!”

 

When Red snorted, it was the only indication Oliver needed to rethink exactly what he’d just said.

 

“…Right. I uh…can’t really add my own, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I love Ollie okay? Sweet robo child <3


	51. Place to Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Blood Mention, Swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m probably going to change my update schedule to every other Sunday. Trying to get a chapter out every week is getting stressful and I don’t have time for anything but that and work anymore so it’s wearing me out. I’m sorry, guys. ^^”

**March 1, 2031,** **12:04 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Mouth twisting as he dumped the contents of his wallet onto the desk in their hotel room, Anti could only shake his head. He barely had enough for another night, and he knew Jameson had even less to his name. They couldn’t go to Seán. He was already housing four Egos, and Anti didn’t even have Mark’s number, so that was out of the question. Who knew where the hell Schneep was now; it had been over three months since he’d gone missing, and there was no luck in even the tiniest of leads.

 

Chase? But Bing lived with him already.

 

Anti could only grumble under his breath. He did _not_ want to live in an already-crowded duplex, even for a little while, with a goddamn android. They’d be at each others’ throats the whole damn time, and that was a given.

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his fingers drift down to the scar at his throat. It still didn’t feel right. It should have been weeping, sticky, staining his shirt so he had to have Wilford clean the blood. He pressed his fingers against the smooth, silvery skin that proved the wound once existed; once a grisly, ragged gash for so many years. The flesh sliced cleanly where the blade had been sharp, but becoming more torn whenever the chips marring his knife had caught skin and pulled more than cut.

 

He couldn’t feel his fingers against the scar. The nerves were too damaged, leaving it and the surrounding flesh numb.

 

What was the deal with the humans’ plane? While it had never hurt, he could still feel the area perfectly fine. Why now that it was “healed” was it numb? Sure, severe scarring worked like that for humans and other injuries for Figments, but the gash? It had been part of his _design._ Why would it go numb?

 

He pressed his fingers against the former wound, stifling a cough when he pushed too hard against his throat.

 

The bathroom door opened with a creak as the glitch counted his cash, free hand rubbing at his neck. He glanced up as Jameson cut toward the dresser. He had a pair of slacks on, but his chest was bare as he toweled his hair dry. Tiny scars with a few long ones scattered about marred Jameson’s chest and shoulders and arms, and Anti knew if he actually looked hard enough he’d find the matching ones around his lips from the magic accident that had cost him his tongue. The ones on his lips were hard to see anymore, but the glitch knew they were there.

 

The younger Septic’s pale eyes flicked up as he rummaged through a drawer for a shirt, a peppy grin falling over his face in a silent good morning to his companion.

 

That grin fell away when Anti didn’t offer a response.

 

“ _What’s the matter?”_ he asked. Anti only glanced at the slide briefly before turning back to the desk and grabbing his cash so he could stuff it back into his wallet.

 

“Gotta find somewhere to stay,” he grumbled. “Just about outta cash.” He slammed his wallet onto the desk with more force than necessary, earning a flinch from his companion as the slide fizzled out of existence from the startle.

 

“We’re not gettin’ jobs any time soon,” he continued, “so we’ve gotta fuckin’ rely on someone else to house us ‘til we do.”

 

Jameson pulled a button-up on after draping his towel over the dresser to air-dry. His speech-slide appeared again, only to go spinning off to the side as Anti swatted at it; green eyes following the blank slide. It disappeared as soon as it hit the nearest object—the bedside lamp—without disturbing the item itself.

 

“Just…” Anti shook his head and grumbled something to himself.

 

Chase was about the only viable option. And the glitch _did not_ want to crash at the same place one of the androids lived.

 

“Your phone charged?” At the other’s sheepish expression, Anti rolled his eyes. “’Course not. Just—pack up your shit. I’ll try gettin’ a hold of Chase.”

 

Pocketing his wallet and grabbing for his cellphone, the older Septic searched through his contacts. He glared when the screen flickered, cursing when it got worse for a moment before he was able to reel his glitches in enough to actually use the device. If there was anything positive he could say about the androids, it was that they knew how to make a phone. Any other besides the one made specially for him, his glitches would have ended up completely frying it within a few months even if he was careful.

 

“ _Yo?”_ Anti rolled his eyes when Chase picked up on the second ring. His voice was a lot quieter than the glitch was expecting. _“I’m kinda busy. You need somethin’?”_

 

“The hell you busy with?”

 

“ _I’m, ah…at the DMV? ‘Bout to take a driving test. I shouldn’t even be on my phone right now, man.”_

 

The glitch blinked at that. Even as they could hear vehicles roar past the hotel on the highway just beyond, Anti had forgotten how prominent they were for travel Outside. Back in the Figmental Plane, it was easy for an Ego to teleport themselves or, if they didn’t have the ability, it was so common it really wasn’t hard to find someone who could and was willing to put aside a few minutes to get you where you wanted to go.

 

“Okay, whatever. Just—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Anti grumbled to himself. “We’re almost outta cash and need somewhere to stay for a while.”

 

“ _Why didn’t you call earlier? Dude, my god! Look—agh, your timing fuckin’ sucks right now. Just…”_ Anti could just imagine Chase smacking himself in the forehead, _“there’s a diner uptown called Riley’s. It’s this old-west-style place. Super obvious. I’ll see if the Twins can meet you there. If they can’t, just wait for me to get done here and we can talk then.”_

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

The line went dead when Chase hung up and Anti pocketed his phone. “Catch all that?” he asked as he turned to the dresser to see Jameson folding clothes and putting them in his backpack. The younger Septic offered a shrug. “…Just pack your shit.”

 

Jameson’s brows arched and head tilted just ever so slightly to the left. _“_ I _am doing so._ You _are the one standing there and watching~”_

 

“Oh, shut up,” the glitch mumbled as he reached for the backpack held out to him.

 

He didn’t own as much as Jameson, but he still couldn’t get the pack to zip once he’d stuffed all his clothes into it. How Jameson’s still had _spare_ room by the time the younger Septic had finished, Anti had no idea. Shouldering his bag with a huff, he waited for his companion to clamor back to the nightstand situated between the two beds so he could snatch the little Sam plush off of it. He adjusted his vest before clipping the plush to his belt loop, fingers petting through the soft material. Anti could have sworn a frown fell over his face for a moment, but then the youngest was perking back up and scurrying toward the door before the glitch could be sure.

 

A final sweep of the room to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything, and they left for the last time with Anti casting a lingering glare at the electric lock. The staff never had sent someone to fix it; they didn’t even need the key card to unlock it anymore. It simply _wouldn’t_ lock. Piece of crap.

 

The glitch slapped both cards onto the counter, startling the woman behind it, and then the pair was gone with only a few quick words to explain that they were done with their room of three months.

 

Three months. Anti shook his head as he pulled out his phone for a GPS route to Riley’s.

 

Three months Schneep had been MIA.

 

Three months Anti and Jameson had been Outside.

 

Three months they had been pretending to be Andrew and James Jackson. It had been a surprise when Bing’s documentation for them said “James” rather than “Jameson.”

 

It was easy to forget how iconic a name Jameson Jackson was. Even to the fans who had moved on, it would return the memories. But the Egos saw it as a name. A name for a living, breathing person. Not a…character. Never just a character.

 

The glitch glanced down when his companion tugged as his elbow and pointed at a door just ahead of them, right near the end of their current block. Riley’s. How long had he zoned out?

 

When he pushed the door open, the pair was waved down by two other, identical, men. The Twins, he thought as he led Jameson to sit at the table. He hadn’t realized until then that he hadn’t seen the Twins in person since they’d come Outside; only on the news. They were both fucking _beanpoles_. Not as tall as Marvin, but definitely up there. With how clumsy they could get while running around, he had to wonder if they’d tripped over their damn spider legs yet.

 

“Why don’t you order something? We’ll pay,” one of them said. He was wearing a loose-fitting tee-shirt, and his hair was a mess. …Jimmy? Maybe? Anti had no clue how to tell them apart.

 

The other twin nodded. He was wearing a fitted, long-sleeved shirt. It was dark blue, and looking like something out of Marvin’s wardrobe back home, with his hair combed back neatly. Seriously, which one always had the disheveled hair? “Then we’ll get an Uber and head home. Bing’s got the kids at a museum today, so we’ll get you settled in a room or something.”

 

The glitch watched as Jameson flicked his wrist under the table, a small notepad appearing in it with a spark. Anti grimaced at how bright it was, but none of the other patrons seemed to notice. The youngest offered a sheepish look before standing.

 

“Want anything?” he signed clumsily. It took Anti a moment to actually figure out what it was he’d tried to say.

 

“Ah…sweet tea. That’ll be good.” He watched Jameson scurry off to the counter after taking a twenty from one of the Ipliers, notebook in hand so he could write the order rather than sign it. Turning back to the Twins with brows raised, Anti leaned back into his seat. “Ben know about this yet?”

 

The fact they exchanged a look with frowns pulling on their usually grinning faces said a lot. And Anti didn’t like what it said.

 

“Ah…no, he doesn’t,” Jim…Jimmy? answered, running a hand over his bare arm.

 

The other shrugged, the blue material of his shirt pulling taught across his chest as if it was almost too tight. “He’s…ah… Well, he’s probably not gonna take it well.”

 

If Anti could still growl, he would have. Instead it came out as more of an angry sigh deep in his throat. “Fuckin’ wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “̢̛Oh̛,͞҉ ̴̛͝ģ̛—͘͜ ͏̕c̨…̢͏c҉a͘l̶l҉͡ ̨ą͢ņ͜ a̵͜m̛͝b͡ul͜͟a̶nc̛e̶̕!”̴̨͞


	52. Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. I’m glad I had this chapter done ahead of time. :/ I’m sick and feel like crap today and really don’t want to do any writing.  
> I think you’ve been waiting for this chapter for a while. :)

**March 18, 2031, 12:00 PM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

Jacques pulled at the collar of his ill-fitted shirt with his free hand, the other clutching his sketchbook tight against his chest. Within were the sketches he was going to be reviewing with Bing; the android wanted to see if he could help uncover the identities of the people Jacques had run into at Marlow’s.

 

It hadn’t been Jacques’s idea. At all. He would have rather stayed at their motel, hunkered down under his covers. It almost made him regret bringing up the…were they Egos? Figments, he’d say, just in case. As far as he knew, they were lesser Figments. A part of him wished he hadn’t mentioned it to Silver. He wanted nothing to do with the other Septics, but going to Bing’s home would get him face-to-face with three of them. Fucking wonderful.

 

The hand that had been at his neck flashed toward the handle above his head as the van bounced over a speed bump. He offered Mark a glare into the rear-view, but the man had his eyes trained on the busy street and never noticed. Silver sat quietly in the front seat, hands fiddling together and eyes occasionally flicking to the mirror as if to make sure Jacques was all right. Roxanne had stayed with Amy and Chica at the Fischbach’s place. At least it was quiet.

 

Jacques lowered his sketchbook into his lap; flipped through the pages until getting to the newest ones. Natemare was the only one he was sure of. His image completely redrawn after one of those fuckers at the cafe had torn the original out. Then there was the security guard, the man in the baseball cap, the corporate-looking woman, and the android. And Jacques _knew_ the guy was an android. He had to be.

 

He’d also learned that the “Iffy” guy at Marlow’s was not only the owner, but Infelix. That was…wonderful news. Jacques had been ticked with Silver for not telling him, even if it was the artist’s fault for not wanting to hear the Iplier whenever he’d tried to bring it up.

 

There was even a picture of Ed in there. While the artist could care less if the cowboy wound up killed, he really wanted to know what the hell had happened; if that had really been Ed, or someone pretending to be him.

 

He glanced up when the van pulled to a stop, jolting its passengers when it hit the too-high curb with its front tire.

 

All three clamored out, Jacques’s foot catching and only Silver grabbing his arm keeping him from face-planting into the sidewalk. He grumbled and shrugged the superhero off when he had his footing, hugging his book close once it was flipped shut. His eyes scanned the complex; four two-story homes in a single building. Duplexes, that’s what they were called, right? The one to catch his eye was the second from the left, a wheelchair ramp leading up to the door rather than stairs like the other three homes. The previous couple to live there had apparently been elderly, with one confined to a chair.

 

Someone was sitting on the ramp and waving them down. Jacques didn’t know which of them it was. Certainly not Bing, right? But did any of them wear glasses? Bing always wore sunglasses, but _glasses_ glasses? They were thick-framed and black; the guy’s gold-brown eyes tracking the trio as they made their way up the walk to the ramp, and stood when they started their way up it.

 

“You’ve got the pics?” he asked. His eyes found Jacques’s sketchbook, and the artist curled his fingers around it possessively even as he nodded.

 

“Bing?” So it _was_ Bing. The android lifted his gaze to his creator, brow arched. “Where’s everyone else?”

 

A shrug. “Yan and Sophie’re upstairs, Chase at the library with Anti, Jimmy’s on a run with Ky, and…y’know, I don’t know where Jim and James are. With the kids, maybe?” A crash from above their heads followed by laughter from three sources confirmed that theory. Jacques had to wonder what had happened. Jim tripping, probably.

 

“Crowded…” the artist mumbled. There were seriously that many people in a small, four-bedroom home? At least he wouldn’t have to talk with any of the Septics.

 

When the door was closed and locked, Bing pulled his glasses off. His eyes immediately brightened and started glowing like they always had, and Jacques could only narrow his own. What the fuck?

 

“Jacques.” Bing was cutting toward a desk off in the corner of the living room, dragging a kitchen chair behind him. “Could take a while, so you wanna grab anything from the fridge?”

 

A shake of the head and the artist ducked around Silver; casting the hero a harsh glare when he opened his mouth as if to say something. He found himself settling into the cushy desk chair as Bing swapped it for the one from the kitchen. Why Bing opted for the stiff wooden one and let Jacques take the comfortable one, he wasn’t sure. But eh. Whatever.

 

“So how many were there?” the android asked. He was getting the laptop started up so wasn’t actually looking at the artist. His core was humming softly, fingers tapping at the desk as he waited for the laptop to boot up.

 

Flipping his book open, Jacques stopped on the hyper-realistic image of the security guard and tapped a spot on the page not stained by graphite. “Four. That is not counting Natemare and Ed.” He felt eyes on the back of his head, and it took everything he had not to curl into himself. He didn’t know if it was Mark or Silver, or if someone from upstairs had come down, but he hated it. “You think you can find who they are?”

 

Bing was opening tabs; connecting a cord to his wrist and the device with his free hand. A second was already snaking from the back of his neck into a different USB port on the laptop. “If they’re documented. I’m hopin’ to at least figure out their aliases and jobs. The more we know so we can avoid ‘em, the better.” When the android turned to face him, Jacques perked up a little. “Let’s see Natemare first. We’ll start with him.”

 

Jacques went back two pages from the guard and held his sketchbook out a little. When Bing went to take it, however, his grip tightened and he pulled it closer. Uneasiness knotted his chest at the thought of handing it over. His fingers curled around the pages and into the spiraling binder.

 

The focused expression on the android’s face softened and he moved his hands away and onto the keyboard. “All right,” he murmured. His voice was soft; as if speaking to a frightened child. “I’m not gonna take it. But you wanna hold it up a little? I need a good scan of his face.”

 

Jacques felt himself relaxing. Bing wasn’t going to take his sketchbook. He just…needed to look. You’re too possessive, he thought. Relax. Work _with_ Bing. Not against him. Figure this out. He swallowed, lessened his grip on the book, and brought it back up so Bing’s bright stare could scan over the image.

 

When the android nodded and turned away, Jacques shifted closer to watch the screen. Bing’s hands were flashing over the keyboard, pages upon pages flickering across the screen far faster than the artist could keep up with. Images and colors changing so fast it made him dizzy to watch for too long. He found himself blinking rapidly and shaking his head; looking to the android’s face instead. He was leaning in close to the screen, unbothered by the flashing colors. Jacques had to wonder if Bing was even seeing what was on the screen, or if the connections to his wrist and neck were sending everything straight to his head.

 

A chittering sound left the android, head tilting. It reminded Jacques of a fucking _bird_. He started clicking as he perked up. He looked… _excited_.

 

“Nathaniel Thompson!” he shouted.

 

Jacques about jumped out of his skin from the startle Bing’s static-laced words caused.

 

“Sorry. Sorry.” Bing lowered his voice back to a respectable level and added, “That’s his alias: Nathaniel Thompson. He’s a wanted criminal; works for this ‘Devon Ripley’ guy in a fuckin’ gang, and Ed’s been seen with ‘em, too. Not often, but still. You see either of ‘em again, you get the hell outta there.”

 

A shake of the head and Bing gestured for Jacques to turn the page; he turned to the security guard’s drawing.

 

There was another bout of silence, but it didn’t take as long to pull up his information; Jacques figured Bing was running matches for all of them at once to make that find so fast. Wouldn’t surprise him.

 

“His name’s Michael Garring. Okay, so this dude’s a security guard at the Los Angeles Mall,” he started, zooming in on the guy in the first staff picture he came across. “But get this…” He clicked on another tab, and Jacques leaned away when Mark and Silver came up behind them to look. He didn’t like how they stood behind him and hunched into himself. “He’s only part-time there. He’s _also_ a security guard at a small-business hunting place on the other side of town from the mall. The owner is also the only one to run the tills and upkeep the shop. Literally his only hire is this guard to act as fuckin’ bouncer.”

 

Bing turned to the artist and gestured to his sketchbook. “Let’s see the dude with the hoodie.”

 

Nodding and flipping through the pages, Jacques stopped on the man with the shrouded face. There were very few details he’d caught on that man. Even in the detailed drawing his face was covered in shadow and without detail to look far too flat against the rest of the image. Bing wasn’t looking at the man’s face, though; he was pointing at his hands. The hands that looked like they’d gotten into a fight with a fucking blender. He then pointed out the cap and hoodie; both with the vague shapes of whatever logos Jacques had seen briefly. Some sort of cat head, he’d thought.

 

“Judgin’ by the guy’s hands and the logos, this’s the same guy to own the hunting place Michael works at.”

 

He pulled up an image of the owner, and Jacques grimaced. His hands might have looked like they got stuck in a blender, but his face? It looked like something or someone had taken a blade to it. Multiple times. It was a miracle that whatever had caused those scars hadn’t touched his eyes considering how close not one, but two of the marks were; jagged and pale against tanned skin, the hair wherever they met with it refusing the grow back. He looked annoyed; like a little kid who hadn’t wanted their picture taken, stare cold as it looked into the camera.

 

“That is…good reason to cover his face…” the artist murmured.

 

Mark leaned forward, placing a hand on the back of Jacques’s chair and making it tilt back far enough the Septic thought it would fall backwards. It didn’t, but it sure felt like it was going to! “What’s his shop called?”

 

Bing shook his head. “I was gettin’ to that.” When he looked directly at the Septic, Jacques found himself furrowing his brows. “I hope to hell his name seems familiar to you, ‘cause I think I know who he is.”

 

Leaning back toward the laptop, Bing went back to the shop’s homepage: Angus’s Hunting and Tackle.

 

“…Angus Hunter,” Jacques read. “But…it is not possible? He was not canon!”

 

“Technically, neither were you,” Bing said. “And I’m bettin’ this is the Hunter Infelix told us about.” A shake of the head, and Bing turned back to the computer. “So this Hunter guy, I don’t know if he’s tracking us down or if he’ll just be keepin’ an eye out for us. Either way, not good. What we need to figure out is if the rest of ‘em are Egos.”

 

“Wait.” Mark held up a hand, and Jacques felt a pang of annoyance. “You’re brushing this Angus guy off like you all know who he is. So..?”

 

“Angus the Survival Hunter. Seán’s first Ego; that’s if he is who we think he is. I uh…don’t think any of us even knew the guy was real?” Jacques and Silver both shook their heads. “And if he was, we figured he’d faded long before the other Septics came along.”

 

“He was from Seán’s _Far Cry_ series when he was new to YouTube,” Jacques added. “We…did not think our creator was popular enough back then for an Ego to come alive. But…if this is Angus…”

 

“It explains why he never showed up in our plane when he did start gettin’ popular. I’ll bet he’s been out here a _long_ time. And I’m not gonna be surprised in the fuckin’ slightest if he’s bitter as hell with the populars.” Jacques felt Bing’s gaze fall on him with that last statement, but he dropped his own; refusing to meet the android’s eyes.

 

“And… And the others?” Mark asked. His voice was halting; almost like he was afraid to find out who any of the others were.

 

It didn’t take Bing long to pull up an image of the corporate woman. “Jane Wolffe.” He raised a brow at his creator when Mark spluttered. “Yeah. I’m thinkin’ that too. And I thought _our_ aliases were uncreative? ‘Yeah, I’m just gonna…name myself after exactly what I am!’ Gonna have to do some digging to find her job ‘cause everything so far’s pretty vague. And the android’s Beau Garring. Says here he’s Michael’s ‘adopted’ brother. I call fuckin’ bullshit. I’m not findin’ much else on him, though…”

 

At that point, Bing was rambling and slowly shifting back into the androids’ language; clicking and whirring in ways they couldn’t understand. Jacques was half-convinced all the new information had broken him.

 

The artist leaned in to look at Jane’s image on the screen, then turned to Mark. He didn’t…understand. Why was she such a big deal? “Who is..?”

 

Silver’s eyes were scanning the picture of the woman even as he answered in his creator’s stead, “Mark was in a skit called ‘Werewolves’ a long time ago. Jane…uh. Well, she was one of the wolves in it.”

 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Jacques closed his book and hugged it close to his chest. Anxiety was bubbling up in his chest as he held it close. “So…so we have a security guard…a werewolf…an android…a-and…the fucking _Survival Hunter_ himself out here, possibly tracking us? That is…fucking _wonderful_...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∀ɥ˙ Wnɔɥ qǝʇʇǝɹ˙ Zɐlƃo,s onʇ˙ ∩dsᴉpǝ poʍu ᴉs ᴉu~  
> Noʍ' uoʍ˙ Hnsɥ˙ Onɹ ,,dɹǝɔᴉons qoʎs,, ɐɹǝ ᴉu ɟoɹ ɐ ɹᴉpǝ˙˙˙


	53. Driving Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. I had it done, but Internet was out all day. :/

**March 23, 2031, 11:22 AM**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

“No, no, no! That is fucking _deathtrap_ on two wheels! You are insane if you want me driving it!”

 

“The guy don’t even know how t’drive a _car._ He’ll fuckin’ kill himself on Wheelie.”

 

“You _named_ the bike?!”

 

“Then teach him with Box first. ‘Least she can’t buck him off.”

 

“Come on, Mare! Box ain’t no fun.”

 

“What do you say, Hen?”

 

“I told you not to call me that!”

 

Natemare made a face as he snatched the motorcycle helmet from the doctor’s hands. Schneep could only return the expression. The difference in height between the two was almost laughable, but the Sharp stood his ground; helmet propped on his hip and a scowl in place as he looked up. Schneep was the first to break; scoffing good-naturedly. Mare had taken some getting used to but really, he thought the Sharp was similar to Edward in some ways. Sarcastic, cocky, but easy to get along with if you weren’t a reckless dumbass.

 

Adjusting the lapels on his new lab coat and scuffing his boots over the ground, he kicked a loose bolt toward the mechanic who had simply watched the ordeal with a brow raised. She was leaning back against the bike in a way that made Schneep worry she was going to tip it over, but he then figured she wasn’t actually putting any weight on it. He’d learned her name was Dottie, and that she was the Devil’s head mechanic.

 

“I trust this ‘Box’ more than Wheelie. What is it?”

 

“Big brown van. Ugly as hell, can’t hit speeds over fifty, and always sounds like she’s about to fall apart. But,” he drew the word out, shifting his weight to the other foot and the helmet swapping sides with the motion, “she’s reliable despite the sounds of things. Easy handling, and great for driving lessons, even if she’d suck as a getaway car.”

 

“Getaway car?”

 

The Sharp waved it off, and Schneep arched a brow.

 

“Where’s Box at?” Natemare asked instead.

 

The mechanic tapped her chin thoughtfully and Schneep half-wondered if she even knew, before, “Garage C. Think they were using her to transfer groceries there or somethin’?”

 

Needless to say, Schneep _did not_ know how to drive when they finally got out to the site. Dottie tried, she really did. Pointing everything out from the passenger seat, seeming unending in patience as the van jerked and swerved and stopped so suddenly they might as well all have whiplash by the time they stopped. Natemare had wound up with a bloody nose after being thrown into the back of the doctor’s seat, and then proceeded to be thoroughly scolded by said doctor for not wearing his seat belt like the other two.

 

Overall, it wasn’t going well. They could only be glad they’d chosen a patch of ill-used road far out of the city for the lessons, or there would have definitely been tickets involved.

 

“Oh my god, no! Don’t use both feet! What the fuck?” The mechanic started laughing while Schneep struggled between the brakes and gas. Don’t use both feet? But there were three fucking pedals, and he didn’t even know what the third one was for! “No, no, no. Just your right foot. Switch it between the pedals as you need to.”

 

He could hear Natemare snickering right behind him, but any time Schneep glared into the rear view, the Sharp would duck out of view behind the Septic’s seat. “Do you want to drive?” he growled. Their laughter was making it a lot harder than it had to be.

 

“I’m a lot better than you!”

 

“Agh! Dottie!”

 

“Oh my god you two are like children. And there were _seriously_ no vehicles where you’re from?”

 

It was still taking Schneep some getting use to that the humans working for the Devil were aware of the Egos. Made it easier working alongside them, but… After months of trying to hide from humans, it took some adjusting.

 

“Of course there were! Just not in many territories!” Schneep grumbled, “Is no use with the teleporters galore!”

 

Schneep could see the other Ego opening his mouth to say something (probably to argue since he _was_ a teleporter, after all), and opted then to slam the breaks. Instead of words, Natemare made a wheezing grunt when the seat belt tightened around his chest as he jerked forward. Schneep really couldn’t help but laugh at the glare cast his way.

 

Dottie’s hands flashed up to the dashboard so she could steady herself, and Schneep heard both of his companions grumbling something to themselves.

 

“Just… You’re trying to tell him too many things at once. Do it step-by-step or somethin’.” Natemare rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’d kinda like to keep my head on my shoulders and I’m starting to think whiplash is gonna end up throwing it out the fucking window.”

 

The doctor could only snort at the look Dottie cast the other Ego. That’s what she’d been doing. The entire time. Step-by-step. Over and over. Part of the problem was Schneep’s annoyance with the damn vehicle. Gear shift? He was sort of getting the hang of it, but why were there so many positions for it? And there were too many things on the dash to pay attention to, and too many knobs in the middle, and too many things on the rode for one damn eye to pick up on as they zipped by. He couldn’t even see Dottie or the rear view or even the damn volume dials unless he turned his head enough to bring them into his left eye’s field of vision. It made him too tunnel-visioned for driving, dammit.

 

He could perform a surgery right in front of his nose, but everything moved too quickly in a vehicle. The van was too big, the lane seemed too small, and he kept hitting the shoulder on the side. The rumble strips were about to drive him crazy he’d hit them so many times.

 

“Hey, whoa! You _trying_ to run us off the road?!” Dottie’s shrill cry made him flinch, jerk the wheel, and slam the breaks for the umpteenth time.

 

Natemare was rubbing at his chest where the belt kept digging into it as he leaned forward. “Henrik, it’s not that hard! What’s make it so difficult?”

 

The bantering from before was gone, along with any of the humor the doctor had been feeling not long ago. Now, he was just…frustrated. With himself, but still. “It _is_ hard!” He brought his forehead down on the wheel a little more forcefully than he’d intended, the resulting honk sending him to bolt back upright. “I can’t fucking focus on everything at once!”

 

“Okay, okay. Let’s try again,” the mechanic suggested, “but ignore Mare and go slow as ya think you need, yeah?”

 

By the time they’d finished for the day, Schneep still definitely wasn’t an expert, but he’d at least be able to say he…eventually…stopped hitting the rumble strips at the shoulder. As often. That was something, right?

 

The humor had slowly eased its way back into the van with Dottie behind the wheel to get them back to Garage A. Yes, that humor was mostly the other two teasing the doctor for his horrible lack of driving skills, but he was right back to laughing alongside them and taking his own jabs at the other Ego and even occasionally the human.

 

“Henrik, you almost ran us into a stop sign!” the mechanic laughed. “That’s the exact _opposite_ of what you’re supposed to do at those!”

 

“So I used the wrong pedal! That is what practice is for, yes?”

 

Dottie shook her head and snickered as she pulled up to one of the garage doors. Natemare leaned in from the back and waved his hand up; the door opened effortlessly in time with his hand. The human didn’t even seem to acknowledge the use of magic.

 

When Box rolled to a stop, the Egos crawled out so Dottie could return it to Garage C.

 

“I can’t wait to see you try riding Wheelie,” the Sharp grinned as he combed his fingers through disheveled hair. It was funny that it never had knots considering Schneep had never once seen the guy brush it. “I—oh—hey! Mad! The fuck you doing?”

 

For his size, Natemare sure had lungs on him. His sudden shout startled the doctor enough that he about jumped out of his skin.

 

Gaze following the Sharp’s, Schneep’s lip twisted into a disapproving frown. “MadPat, you are on bedrest! You’re going to pull your fucking stitches out!”

 

“Easy, Doc,” Mad gave a small wave as he leaned over the railing above their heads. At least he was only just outside the clinic so hadn’t walked very far. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

 

“No, no, no,” the doctor grumbled as he made a beeline for the stairs leading up to the metal walkway, “you need rest is what you need! Come with—eh?” A sudden warmth was radiating from his pocket. But what could that… Oh, shit. He started cursing in German as he dug for the crumpled ball of paperboard buried in one of the pockets in his lab coat. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t be. Where was the card? Where the hell was the card?

 

When he found it and pulled it free of the confines of his pocket, it was glowing. It was _glowing_. Bright blue; the same bright, electric, sparkly blue as Marvin’s aura. Schneep could only stare wide-eyed at the object as panic settled into his gut. No, no, no, no. They couldn’t have… They hadn’t even been trying! They hadn’t been trying! Why was Marvin Tracking him _now?!_ Why now? Why now, when he’d finally found his place? Why when he was finally happy?

 

Mad was staring at him like a deer in the headlights, lips parted with something he’d wanted to say and never managed to get out.

 

Schneep couldn’t find the words in English to tell the other what was wrong. They kept catching in his throat, or coming out in German to just make that expression plastered over Mad’s features even more confused. They couldn’t be Tracking him. They _couldn’t. They couldn’t!_

 

“Your ‘friends’ don’t actually want you back. You know that, right?” Mad asked as he stared down the card. Was it that obvious that’s what it was? “They’ll just drag you away from here and toss you aside again.”

 

He felt the air shift; smelled cigars as the Devil appeared at his side. Natemare must have gotten him when he noticed something was wrong. He still couldn’t find the words as he stared into the Iplier’s dark eyes. His tongue kept fumbling; his hands were shaking. Why were they shaking. Stop fucking shaking. Stop it!

 

“He’s right, Henrik,” the Devil murmured. His voice was soft like silk; his hands grounding as they moved up to hold the doctor’s wrists almost too tightly. “Your place is here. With us. You don’t _miss_ them, do you?”

 

The scent of cigar smoke made him dizzy; it seemed heavier than usual, casting a haze around them. He could only make out the Devil’s eyes, and latched onto that one single thing that wasn’t swimming in almost nauseating ways. “Miss…them? No. _Nein. Ich…”_ It hurt to think.

 

“Give MadPat your card.”

 

And he did. Why fight it? He didn’t… _need_ to see the others again. No, no, they didn’t _want_ to see _him_ again. That’s what it was! So why would Marvin be..? He swallowed thickly, practically choking on the cigar smoke permeating the air.

 

“Your friends are here, now. Think of how you laugh with Natemare, and bicker with MadPat.” The Devil’s hands loosened as the doctor nodded. “You work here. You belong here. In Garage A, working as my most trusted doctor. Yes?”

 

Another nod. There was bright light at the corner of his vision. Yellow-orange and hot.

 

When the Devil released him and was gone with his aura, teleporting away, the doctor blinked at the light. Fire in the palm of Mad’s hand. Burning the card. The blue fighting with the orange; the orange winning out. Killing the blue. Swallowing it, suffocating it until it was forced to get smaller, and smaller.

 

Schneep could only watch as the ashen remains of the card fell through the other Ego’s fingers; through the grating of the metal platform and to the concrete below.

 

He belonged at the garage. Not with the Septics. And they couldn’t take him away now.

**Author's Note:**

> The series now has an ask blog. [You can find it here.](https://asktheoutside.tumblr.com/)


End file.
